


Speak the Speech, I Pray You

by brynnmck



Category: Bandom, Mindless Self Indulgence, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shakespearean, Crossdressing, M/M, Theatre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-18
Updated: 2012-03-18
Packaged: 2017-11-02 03:08:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brynnmck/pseuds/brynnmck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Struggling playwright Gerard Way and his company of travelling players are summoned by the Lady Ballato, who sets them a challenge to save her from an unwelcome marriage proposal. Basically: comedy, tragedy, romance, inexcusable puns, a lot of cross-dressing, and a wolf costume.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speak the Speech, I Pray You

**Author's Note:**

> My deepest apologies to William Shakespeare. And to Tom Stoppard, for that matter. My deepest glee for my artist ababydino, though, for creating such an [adorable, evocative piece](http://ababydino.livejournal.com/4566.html) that inspired a world that was incredibly fun to play in! And my deepest gratitude to jedusaur, for a superhumanly quick and helpful beta (all remaining mistakes are my own), and to the mods of the Bandom Reverse Big Bang 2012, for running such a fun challenge.
> 
> This story was inspired by ababydino's delightful art:  
>  
> 
> [](http://pics.livejournal.com/brynnmck/pic/00215c6a)  
> 

* * * * *

Gerard Way, future Master of Ravenkroft, was curled up beneath his favorite tree in his father's orchard. His quill and ink lay idly by as he stared into the distance, fantastical worlds taking shape inside his head… until he was brought abruptly back to his present world by an apple thudding to the ground just past his feet. Gerard looked up, expecting a squirrel, and saw instead a boy's round face, bright-cheeked and bright-eyed, his hair dangling down toward the branches.

"Good morrow," said the boy cheerfully.

Gerard squinted up at him, tilting his head to shade his eyes from the sun. "Good morrow." There was a pause—the boy's face was turning a faintly crimson hue—and so Gerard added politely, "Why are you in my tree?"

"It's not your tree, it's your father's tree," said the boy. 

"It will be mine, someday," Gerard pointed out. _Not that I want it_ , he added to himself, but he kept his own counsel on that.

"Do you want it?" the boy asked. 

Gerard blinked. "Want what?"

"The tree. These trees. All of this." The boy waved a hand, dislodging a pair of leaves that fluttered down to land on Gerard's legs. "Do you want it? My father says that power makes men mad, and that he would have no part of it."

Gerard considered that as he tapped the feather of his quill against his chin. "Many a play would agree with your father; there are many kings who are madmen, or madmen who become kings. Though I have yet to reckon which of those is the root, and which the branch."

The boy laughed, and then his head disappeared back into the leaves. Gerard was left staring at foliage for a moment, until there was a great rustling and a few muffled oaths, followed by a thump as the boy fell to the ground beside him. "I'm Frank," the boy said, extending a hand for Gerard to clasp.

"Gerard," Gerard answered. From this vantage, he could see that Frank was probably a year or three his junior, and both shorter and stouter than Gerard was, with ruddy cheeks that spoke of wind and sun. 

"Soon to be Lord Way, Master of Ravenkroft," Frank corrected him teasingly.

Gerard sniffed. "Not _soon_."

"Well, when you are, if you be worthy of it, perhaps I shall serve you like my father now serves yours," Frank offered. 

"Who is your father?" Gerard asked.

"Frank Iero, and I am named for him." The boy puffed out his chest.

"You're Iero?" Gerard asked, incredulous. He had heard tell that his father's new steward had a son near Gerard's age, but he had not hoped to befriend him. Befriending was not one of Gerard's talents; he preferred his younger brother Michael's company to all others. And though he had been known to listen in secret when the stablemaster's son Ray was practicing his lute, generally when Gerard was not with Michael, he was here, with his own thoughts and paper and the whirling dervish of his imagination.

"Are you struck dumb?" Frank was asking, and Gerard realized with a start that Frank had answered his question long before. Gerard's face flushed hot. He scraped a hand across his forehead, then looked regretfully at the ink on his fingers, suspecting that his face was now darkened with it.

"I…" he said. "I do not have your gift of easy speech to strangers."

"Oh." Frank laughed. "I see." Gerard expected Frank to leave him then, in search of some more stimulating company, but he merely peered over Gerard's shoulder at the ink-stained page. "You seem to speak easily enough to paper. What are you writing?" 

Gerard looked carefully at the other boy, searching for signs of mockery, but there appeared to be only genuine curiosity. He breathed deeply. "It's a play," he admitted, and instinctively braced for a blow.

"A play?" Frank's eyes went wide. "What's it about? Can I be in it? Are there battles? I'm good at battles." He sprang to his feet, snatched up a nearby stick, and lashed furiously at the air. A little too furiously, perhaps, for as he drew his arm back for a third strike, he overbalanced and fell to the ground with a grunt.

Gerard set his paper aside and scrambled on his hands and knees toward Frank. "Are you hurt?"

"No." Frank was laughing, on his back in the grass. "I had worse a day ago—Ray, in the stables, let me ride one of your father's horses, and I fell off. See?" He displayed an impressive purpling bruise on his upper arm. Fascinated, Gerard reached out to touch it, but stopped his fingers just shy of Frank's skin; he had no wish to cause pain.

"You're not angry that I rode your father's horse, are you?" Frank asked, uncertainty clouding his face, chased quickly by mutiny. "You cannot send us away for such an offense. No one else was using him, and I see no reason that—"

"My mother makes a poultice for our bruises," Gerard interrupted him. "Shall I bring you some?"

Frank looked at him a moment longer, then shrugged, his smile lighting his face like a torch in a dark room. "Tomorrow, mayhap." 

Gerard felt something twist in his chest. _There's going to be a tomorrow?_ "All right," he said aloud, trying to contain a foolish smile of his own. "You have a bargain, Frank Iero."

"Good," Frank said. He sat up and somersaulted twice, until he was seated beneath the tree, grass in his hair and a leaf still stuck to his breeches. "Read it to me," he said, holding Gerard's paper out to him, "and then we will enact it," and Gerard smiled and did as he was asked.

* * * * *

“What do you suppose she wants?” Frank asked Gerard as their bright-painted wagon rumbled toward Lady Ballato’s castle. His shoulders were hunched, a scowl hovering around the edges of his mouth. From the wagon behind them came the sounds of Ray tuning his lute, and Jamia's laughter.

“I can no more guess at her intent than you can," Gerard answered. "Yet if a lady of her station calls, we must needs answer; you know that."

“Mmm,” was Frank’s reply. In the twelve years Gerard had known him, his impulsive nature had not dimmed in the slightest, and he mistrusted the titled as surely as any horse who has been beaten mistrusts a saddle. For his part, certainly Gerard much preferred to gallop at his own pace as well. But his agreement with his father was that he could maintain his liberty only as long as he could pay for it, and their own horses were remarkably persistent in desiring to eat—of late, Sweet Pea seemed to be on the verge of taking a bite out of James every time he passed—so even the hope of a commission was worth two days' journey. 

To add to that, in some counties, there was no swifter way to the stocks than to deny the request of a lord; Gerard himself might be safe, being well-born, but the rest of the company would not be so protected. And thus, Lady Ballato’s summons could not go unanswered, which Frank very well knew—as well as Gerard knew that Frank detested it.

But necessity or no, Gerard saw Frank's scowl starting to deepen, distorting the sweet lines of his face; if left unchecked, it would settle as surely as a river carving out a bed. Gerard nudged him with a shoulder, hoping to tease him out of his foul mood. “Perhaps she has heard tell of a handsome player in our company,” he suggested slyly. “Perhaps she pines away for love of you, and intends to marry you and elevate us all.”

Frank peered down at the road beneath them, then looked back at Gerard. “I am precisely as elevated as I have any wish to be,” he answered, but his scowl had given way to the first inkling of a smile. “And though I'm handsome enough to drive many a maid to rash acts, I misdoubt that would be sufficient to tempt a woman of Lady Ballato’s station.”

 _You might be surprised_ , Gerard thought, with a curl of something in his stomach that he didn’t care to define—an undigested bit of stew, perhaps. Which was all the more reason to hope that Lady Ballato’s interest in them would lead to coin in their pockets after all.

"Are we near?" Jamia asked, her close-cropped head emerging from the back of the wagon. As Frank's oldest friend save Gerard, she had been welcomed into their company; but to all outside their circle, she was Jamie, a precocious young boy, for women were not allowed upon the stage. Had she been a boy in truth, she would likely have played the maidens' parts, but as it stood, she refused to do so for fear of being discovered. Therefore the duty fell to Frank, and though he grumbled about it good-naturedly, he threw himself into his roles with equal enthusiasm whether he played the knight or the knight's lady.

"Near enough," Gerard told Jamia. "Make yourself ready, but stay in the wagon; Frank and I will enter first, to see what may be seen."

"Hmph," sniffed Jamia, and disappeared into the wagon again. A moment later, James' voice rang out.

"Gerard! Michael is using your paper again."

Gerard sighed. His brother was forever writing letters to someone or another; Gerard would have wagered that he had exhausted every pigeon in Ravenkroft with his missives. That James was pointing this out, however, spoke to restless mischief more than real desire to aid.

"Michael!" Gerard called back. "Save me a sheet at least, or we will have nothing new to enact for Lady Ballato."

"I have an excellent memory," replied Michael, who had mastered the art of using language to say nothing at all.

Gerard sighed again, more heavily. Beside him, Frank laughed. "And yet I wondered why Lady Ballato would be so eager to summon us," he said.

Gerard snorted a laugh of his own and urged the horses on their way.

* * * * *

Lady Ballato's great hall was simple but well-appointed, with a few finely-wrought, sturdy chairs arranged in a pleasing manner, and tapestries on the walls that bore images of the very landscape they had ridden through on their way to the estate. Gerard had expected to be greeted by the usual flock of twittering court ladies, but Lady Ballato awaited them alone, without even a gentlewoman to attend her.

Gerard swept her a bow. “My lady,” he said. “You honor us with your request.”

Lady Ballato’s dark eyes skipped between his face and Frank's. “I would speak with you alone, Master Way.”

Gerard’s eyebrows raised before he could stop them; it was a rare woman who would make such a request in open company. He had yet to discover whether Lady Ballato’s rarity was of the jewel or the asp variety, however, so he simply inclined his head. “I would not deny you, my lady, but this man is my most trusted companion; anything you have to say to me may be spoken in his presence as well.”

“Very well.” Lady Ballato rose from her chair and stepped forward. "I saw your _Sweet Revenge_ at The Lily Theatre this midsummer; it touched my heart."

"I thank you most humbly," Gerard answered, flushing with pleasure at the unexpected compliment.

“And in something of a similar vein," Lady Ballato went on, "you are familiar with our neighbor Pedicone, are you not, Master Way?”

Gerard heard Frank shift behind him, and hurried to speak to cover the movement. “I am, my lady.” It was a struggle to keep his voice smooth, but he was not a player for nothing; he used the hand that was angled behind him to touch Frank’s sleeve briefly, and kept his own expression open.

“I see you bear him no love,” she said to Frank, and Gerard tensed now, too, but she simply went on, “Which is precisely why I have called you here. Lord Pedicone desires to marry me—or, to speak plain, he desires to marry my lands—and I... well.” She spread her hands in front of her. “Quite simply, I would rather eat my own innards.”

Gerard’s eyebrows were now raised so high he was actually developing an ache in his forehead. He dared not look at Frank—who had a finely-developed sense of the macabre—but he heard his friend's barely-muffled snort of amusement nonetheless, and suspected that Lady Ballato had just risen considerably in Frank’s esteem. “I...” Gerard hesitated, then, throwing caution to the wind in the face of the lady’s frankness, “I commend your taste, my lady.”

Lady Ballato smiled, warm and bright. “Excellent. Methinks we shall be friends, Master Way.”

Gerard inclined his head again. "I hope so, my lady," he said, surprised to find that he truly meant it. "But you still have not said how we may serve you. Unless," he added, testing her a bit, "you wish us to serve you the entrails you speak of, in which case I fear you must be disappointed. For all our bloody remnants are but paint and ribbons, and we only perform _Titus_ when we are promised a stern-stomached audience."

"And if I were to consume mine, then I would have no stomach, and therefore you could not perform for me," Lady Ballato replied, her eyes twinkling now.

Gerard grinned, well-pleased with her response. "Even so, my lady."

"Fortunately for both of us, I prefer to keep my insides on the inside, I thank you, sir," Lady Ballato returned with a small curtsy. Then she seemed to recall herself, and the merriment faded from her face like the sun dipping behind a mountain. "But I had hoped to try another scheme. Lord Pedicone—or should I say, his messenger—has been quite persistent in his desire that we be joined in holy union of properties. Whatever personal distaste I hold for him, I might still consider this marriage if I did not suspect that Lord Pedicone was false to his people, hoarding coin and grain and meat like a gluttonous miser while those he should serve struggle for the crumbs of his table."

"With all my heart, I believe this to be true, and would gladly slice a hole in his fat purse, should I come near it," Frank burst out, surging forward. Then he ducked his head and added, "My lady," hands twisting in front of him as if caught between contrition and violence.

Gerard inhaled to speak, his mind spinning with a way to soothe the moment, but Lady Ballato merely came to stand near Frank. "Master Iero, am I correct?" she asked, her voice smooth and gentle.

Frank met her eyes fiercely. "I am no man's master, but I am Iero."

Lady Ballato smiled, showing no fear of Frank's passion, yet no offense at his boldness. "Ah, but would you be mastered by a woman? If rumor’s tongue is true, you have as much reason as any, and more than most, to desire that the Lord Pedicone be revealed for who and what he is. Your father was the elder Lord Pedicone's steward once, I think."

"He was," Frank answered tightly. "When I was but a boy."

"And he served Pedicone with honor," Lady Ballato went on, "yet when he dared to take a horse to fetch medicine for you during an illness, Pedicone dismissed him without hesitation."

Frank's jaw clenched, and color bloomed in his cheeks. "How came you to know this? Are not the fates of common people far beneath a lady's notice?"

Lady Ballato simply shrugged. "This man's son would be my husband, and we are neighbors, and there are always tongues eager to wag when a cruel lord is out of earshot. And so I have heard tell, too, that this same Pedicone's son was once your close companion."

"No more," Frank told her, "for from the day we left his father's house, we never met but that he stared straight through me, for all the world as if I were a ghost."

"My lady," Gerard interjected, seeing the pain on Frank's face and knowing how his friend would hate to show it, "these are old scars, long since healed and faded into insignificance. Why rend them open again?" 

But Lady Ballato still spoke only to Frank. "You know me not, and therefore trust me not, which is as wise as it is unnecessary. Yet if you serve me in this, you serve yourself, for together we may bring the downfall of a man who has betrayed his people's trust, who would happily trade the lives in his care for the reckless pursuit of his own pleasures."

Frank gave her a measuring look. "I am no man's master, nor am I any woman's slave," he said finally. "Yet I would gladly walk beside you on this road, my lady, if Lord Pedicone's shame lies at the end of it."

"Then we have a common enemy, which, as the foundation for friendship, is challenged only by great hardship or great quantities of alcohol, I believe," Lady Ballato answered, and though her lips curved, her eyes remained dark and serious, holding Frank's gaze. Gerard watched them both with his breath caught in his lungs, for all the world as if he were a groundling waiting to see if Tamburlaine might triumph.

Another moment, and then Frank's smile burst across his face like a kingfisher breaching the surface of a river, bright and swift. He bowed deeply. "I am yours to command, my lady."

Lady Ballato clasped her hands together as Frank straightened again. "Then I hope we shall walk together indeed, for what I propose is this: though I am mistress in this house, as soon as I set foot beyond my own lands, I am shackled by my sex and my station, and these—" she gestured to the ribbons trailing from her gown—"hold me fast as sure as any chains. Yet as players, you may go wherever you will, whenever you will. Including the Lord Pedicone's castle, and all the secrets and surfeits that might lie restless within it."

"You desire that we shall perform for Lord Pedicone, and under the guise of our preparations, discover the key to his dethronement?" Gerard asked. "Why not simply refuse him? My lady seems to lack neither courage nor knowledge of her own mind."

"No," Lady Ballato answered, dropping him another mocking curtsy, "yet I would not make an enemy of a man who shares my border, and leave him standing afterward."

Gerard glanced at Frank, who was nodding with obvious admiration. Then his brow furrowed. "But even if we succeed in this," Frank asked, "shall not another simply take his place? There are always wealthy men ready to inherit power, and if I remember aright, Pedicone has brothers."

"He has an elder brother, Robert," Lady Ballato said, "whose leg was mangled by fire as he reached his manhood, after the which he hid himself away in a cave, rejecting his family's seat. But Pedicone's younger brother, Jarrod, returns from the wars in a just beyond a fortnight. And all accounts label him a just and generous man, if perhaps too blinded by a young boy's adoration of the elder sibling who taught him to tilt at wheat stalks with his first wooden sword. Yet if solid proof can be presented to him of Lord Pedicone's folly, then I believe he will not hesitate to take his rightful place to serve his people."

“In our travels, we have heard the same accounts,” Gerard agreed. "Moreover, we have met Sir Jarrod once, in Ravenkroft. We found him to be a kind-hearted, cheerful lad, and I doubt not that the wars have seasoned him into a better man than his brother. Or at any rate, I doubt that he is worse.”

“Then you see the merit of my plan?” Lady Ballato asked.

“I might.” Gerard tapped his chin thoughtfully. He had been working on a new play, as it happened, and with its focus on the dangers of the excesses of the flesh.... “I have a new work that might suit quite well, in fact,” he said. "I call it _The Black Parade._ " Schemes and costumes were already beginning to whirl to life in his mind.

“Wonderful,” Lady Ballato said, the picture of good cheer. “So which part shall be for me?”

* * * * *

"Hold," said Ray, when Gerard and Frank had returned to the waiting company. "She desires to _join_ us?"

"The idea isn't entirely without merit," said Gerard. "Disguised among us, she can move much more freely, and avoid Pedicone's attentions in the bargain."

“She may also betray us and leave us to Pedicone’s mercy,” James pointed out. “Gerard, you know it pains me to refuse aid to anyone, much less a lady, but we know nothing of her motivations.”

“She has as much to risk here as we do,” Frank put in. “Perhaps more, since if our game is revealed, then—being a woman—the stain of it will plague her all her life.”

Gerard nodded eagerly. “Yes, Frank speaks truly. And besides, if she meant only to betray us, why bother summoning us here? Was her needlework not diverting enough, that she would turn instead to torturing poor players for her sport?”

“You like her.” Michael spoke for the first time since Frank and Gerard had returned. “You like her,” he repeated, “but it’s more than that.” He walked over to stand at Gerard’s elbow. “What is it?”

"Adventure," Gerard said simply, meeting his brother's eyes. "Adventure such as we have only pretended to until now. And if we succeed, our names will be upon the lips of Ledyardshire and Monrovia and perhaps even beyond. Our new play shall be the birth of our greatest performance, and we may defend the honor of a sweet lady, yet serve justice for Frank's family as well. And all for but a three-day journey and a draught of courage."

Silence fell among the company in the wake of this speech, and Gerard waited with his stomach full of knots. And since, despite his brave words, he could only muster the courage to watch Michael—Michael, who was somehow smiling without moving his face—Gerard startled when Ray clapped him on the shoulder. 

"God's blood, man, we can hardly refuse now, can we?"

It was as if a string had been cut, releasing a cascade of laughter and agreement among them, and Gerard looked from face to face with affection glowing in his breast like a hearth-fire. 

"Still," Jamia interjected, ever practical, "she can play no role until we know her skill. Can she even pitch her voice to carry through an open chamber, or is she accustomed only to the meek mewing of a fine lady?"

"I howl loudly enough when I have cause to do it," came a voice from behind them, and when Gerard turned, he saw Lady Ballato waiting, clad from head to foot in boy's garb.

"My lady," Gerard stammered, caught flat-footed.

"You may call me Lin," she said, with a passable bow. "At your company's service, Master Way. Shall I give you an audition?"

"That…" Gerard recovered himself and stood with his shoulders back, as though perfectly at ease. "That is not necessary, my lady."

"Then how do you know which part I shall play?" Lady Ballato asked, and for that, Gerard had no answer.

"Let her try," Jamia suggested, and earned her own bow in return; Gerard could not decipher whether Lady Ballato had misheard the challenge in Jamia's voice, or was simply choosing to ignore it.

"Thank you, young one," Lady Ballato replied. Without further ado, she struck a dramatic pose, and began to declaim:

" _First, let me tell you whom you have condemn'd:  
Not me begotten of a shepherd swain,  
But issued from the progeny of kings;  
Virtuous and holy; chosen from above_ …"

Gerard watched her carefully, for though he could not deny her a role, he could hide her in a smaller part if he must. Her voice was strong and steady, and her manner engaging, though untrained and fraying at the edges with nerves. Still, her confidence grew line by line, and by the time she reached the climax of her speech, her eyes glittered with passion:

 _"Whose maiden blood, thus rigorously effused,  
Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven._ "

And then, before the last vibrations had died from the air, she collapsed forward as if exhausted, hands upon her knees. Gerard tensed to move to her, but before he could travel more than a step, her head came back up, and a long stream of fire issued forth from her mouth.

The company stood dumbfounded.

After a long, long moment, Jamia breathed, "What sorcery is this?" 

Lady Ballato laughed. "No sorcery, sir, but a simple trick. Come, I will show you." She displayed a flint in one hand, and a small vial in the other. Jamia moved toward her cautiously, as though she might erupt in flame again.

"She may join us and welcome," Ray said to the rest of them as the two women conferred, "but she may not be Lin one moment, and Lady Ballato the next; Pedicone may be a fool and a tyrant, but he has eyes in his head. And without the Lady Ballato as an enticement, how are we to present ourselves to him? He may refuse us outright."

"We may say that we come in her name," Michael suggested. "If he is as anxious to wed her as she believes, he may be persuaded."

"Still," Ray sighed, "I fear her name will not be nearly as compelling as the lady herself. Pedicone is not known to be a lover of the theatre, and for all our preparation, he may turn us away at the gates."

"As to that," said Frank, watching Jamia and Lady Ballato thoughtfully, "I may have an idea."

* * * * *

"Stop fidgeting," Gerard commanded as Frank shifted on his seat for what seemed like the hundredth time in the past hour.

"These diabolical bone cages are _not_ fit for carriage travel," Frank grumbled.

Gerard sighed. "It's not as if you've never worn one before."

"Yes, well, wearing a corset for just long enough to die in your arms and wearing a corset for a day-long journey are two entirely different things." Frank grimaced and shifted again. "I can see why Jamia and Lady Ballato were eager to escape such confinement."

"As can I," Gerard agreed. Lindsey (for so Lady Ballato had insisted that they call her, when they did not call her Lin) had left her own people behind to manage the estate in her absence, and had taken to her new role with reckless enthusiasm. In their boys' guises, the two women were currently driving the wagon; their laughter drifted back with the breeze occasionally, Jamia's pitched artificially low, and Gerard wondered at the wisdom of her spending so much time with Lindsey. For Jamia was still Jamie, as far as Lindsey knew, and while Jamia clearly saw some sort of kindred spark in their newest player and had volunteered to help accustom her to her new role, to do so meant maintaining her own disguise for much longer than she usually needed to. In the fortnight of their preparations at Ledyardshire, she had not yet given herself away, but Gerard knew the last grains of that hourglass would run out sooner rather than later.

 _We all play our parts_ , Gerard mused, and looked over at Frank again, perched across from him on the fine cushions of Lady Ballato's carriage.

There was reason that the ladies' roles often fell to Frank; with his full mouth, moss-green eyes, and delicate features, he made a likely enough maiden, for all that he loved best to swing a sword. They had fashioned him a wig of black curls, a few of which tumbled now about his face, having stubbornly escaped from the style Lindsey had devised. When they drew near to Lord Pedicone's castle, he would don a veil to help preserve his disguise, but for now, his carefully rouged cheeks and kohl-lined eyes were naked to Gerard's gaze as Frank stared impatiently out the window at the blighted fields. The corset and full skirts gave him a fair womanly shape, the carriage completing the illusion far more effectively than their typical rude sets, and Gerard was struck suddenly by how strange and yet how familiar he looked.

And—Gerard's heart stuttered oddly in his chest—how beautiful.

Frank turned his attention back to Gerard, tugging at the collar around his neck. "I would that we were there. I have no stomach for this waiting."

Gerard felt his skin flush, as if he had been caught empty-mouthed during a monologue, and shook his head slightly. This was Frank sitting across from him, not some distant, worshipped maiden, and Frank needed him. 

"All will be well, my friend," Gerard said quietly. He started to reach across the space between them to place his hand on Frank's knee, but he had no confidence in his ability to _find_ Frank's knee beneath the yards of stiff fabric, and it felt strangely presumptuous besides, so he clenched his hand at his side instead. “Thanks to his messenger's ardor, Lady Ballato is known only by reputation to Pedicone, and if, perchance, some image of her face and form have found their way to him, you are like enough to her to fool a fool. In the best case, you play your most impressive role to date, we save the honor of a fair lady, and we discredit the man we both have cause to hate. In the worst case," and now he smiled, trying to project both comfort and confidence, "we are discovered, and Lord Pedicone is decried as a fool for not knowing a lady when he sees one. And we add to our reputation as rascals and knaves—as all good players are—and the people love us the more for it."

There was a pause, but then Frank's lips curled upward in a wicked grin that was as much at odds with his demure garb as a temptress in a nunnery. "We're fortunate to have had the foresight to be disreputable to begin with; it makes these matters so much simpler."

Gerard sketched him a half-bow. "Indeed it does, my lady."

Frank groaned. "We have no audience, sirrah, beyond whatever constant crowd of adorers may exist in your fertile brain."

"Rehearsal," Gerard said, shaking his head as if in disgust. "Rehearsal, man."

"Tyrant," Frank accused, though his soft smile gave the word the lie even as it formed. He glanced out the window again, his eyes seeming to skip away from the barren fields as if the sight pained him. "Only a few leagues left. You'll have to go back to the wagon soon, or Lady Ballato's reputation will be ruined before our scheme can even begin."

In the afternoon light, Frank's skin looked like new-skimmed cream. "Soon," Gerard murmured, hardly aware of what he spoke. "But not yet."

Frank's smile widened. "No," he said. "Not yet."

* * * * *

They divided their party at a safe distance from Pedicone's castle, and Lindsey gave Frank a last critical examination.

“Be demure, but not spineless,” she told him, adjusting the angle of his veil. “Speak as little as you may, and if all other recourse fails, swoon.”

Gerard would have laughed were it not for Frank’s gloved hands shifting restlessly at his sides. With Monrovia stretching before them, the reality of their quest was weighing heavier upon them all, and Frank would lead the charge alone. Ray rested a hand on Frank’s shoulder. 

“We will follow on your heels, and keep the horses fresh for our escape if need be. Every man—and woman—" he added, for Lindsey's sake—"of us is at your side in soul, if not in body.”

Frank clapped a hand over Ray’s and smiled, looking steadier on his feet. Michael simply embraced him, clinging tightly for a moment before donning the yellow wig and wide-brimmed hat that would disguise him, and taking his place as the driver of Frank’s carriage. Gerard would have performed the duty himself were it not for his too-visible role in their charade, but if he must be parted from his friend, he was glad to have his brother in his stead. 

Lindsey smoothed the line of Frank’s gloves, then clasped his hand. “I thank you, sir,” she said, her voice softer than her usual wont. “You risk much on my behalf, and I am grateful for it.”

Gerard could see Frank's fingers tighten on hers. “We walk together, my lady,” he said, and Gerard marveled at how, over the past fortnight, the formal address seemed to have become a term of endearment between them. 

“It is my honor,” Lindsey answered him warmly, then scurried to the wagon, where Jamia and James were waiting. 

Gerard was left standing before Frank, and for a rarity, his words seemed to tangle in his throat. “It has been many years since I have traveled without you beside me,” he said. “I hope to find my way.”

“If you do not arrive within the hour, I shall send searchers," Frank assured him. "Probably for your head, for if you abandoned me to face this farce alone, I would hardly credit my actions.”

“And miss your consummate performance?” Gerard clucked his tongue. “Not for the wide world.”

Frank grinned then, and despite the veil, it was the same grin that Gerard remembered from a sunny orchard of his childhood. 

“You have ever been the lion-hearted one,” Gerard said. “Yet say the word and the curtain falls upon our stage.”

“I will not fail,” Frank said, affecting a cocksure tilt to his head.

“”T’were impossible that you should,” Gerard said. He touched Frank’s shoulder. “Be safe. We will join you anon.”

* * * * *

They had agreed to wait an hour after Frank's departure; to Gerard, each minute crawled by as if it had been drenched in tar. When they finally set off, it seemed another interminable span of time before Lord Pedicone’s castle rose like a monolith behind the cloud of dust of the road. Yet there they were at last, and his steward met them at the gate.

“Master Way. Your presence is... expected.” The words crept out from beneath a sneer that looked to be as permanent a feature of his landscape as the estate itself was of Monrovia's. 

Gerard threw his arms wide and boomed as if to the back of a crowded theatre, “We are welcomed, good sir! Lead on.”

As they approached the great hall, Gerard began to notice hints of the county’s slow decline in the battered furniture and chipped sconces that marked the darkest corners of the hallways. Yet he could not keep his eyes from the finely-woven tapestries on the walls, stark contrast to the barren fields and crumbling homes that had marked the rest of the county.

Jamia nudged him with an elbow and spoke low, mindful of the steward’s hearing. “He clings to his comforts, does he not?”

“As we suspected,” Gerard murmured back. Ray moved forward as well, his mouth open to join the conversation, but then wide wooden doors were opening in front of them, and they were standing in the great hall.

Gerard’s eyes sought Frank immediately, but he seemed unharmed, seated in a velvet chair atop a dais. There was a young man—Jarrod, if Gerard recalled him rightly—seated on the far chair, and between them, half-reclining, was Pedicone. He had the solid form and graceful attitude of a man of action, yet his eyes were as heavy-lidded as those of a cat contemplating bowl of cream. 

“Master Way,” Pedicone greeted him, though there was little greeting in it. “My lady has bid you join us, and therefore you are welcome to my court, upon her sufferance.” And here he inclined his head toward Frank. Frank turned his own head teasingly to the side, but Gerard saw his shoulders twitch minutely beneath the fabric of his gown, as if ants were crawling over him. To sit idly so near to his enemy was a string destined to snap; Gerard cursed himself for not anticipating this end. 

Swiftly, he launched into his most lavish bow, sweeping his hat from his head and bringing it down in a wide arc until the long feather in it brushed the floor. “You honor us, my lord.”

“My lady honors you,” Pedicone answered, as if the words cost him unwelcome effort. “I have heard tell of your... diversions, Way, and I will give you stone and dust to build your fantastical scenes. But I must tell you, I prefer to traffic in plain truth and honest action.”

“But we hold mirrors up to truth, and return its image to you newly-shined, the better to illuminate,” Gerard said, swallowing to quell the irony that threatened to creep into his voice. "For the truth is never plain; verily, it is the most precious thing that we may hope to behold."

Pedicone raised an eyebrow. “You answer neatly. Tell me, are you as well-prepared for your performances?”

“What would you, sir?” Gerard asked him. He stepped forward as he spoke, while the hiss of slippers on stone assured him that his companions were taking their places for his well-worn speech. “Would you adventure?” Gerard said, and James and Jamia filled the hall with the sound of clattering swords, nearly overwhelming Ray’s strong, strident notes as he plucked his strings with a flourish. 

“Would you tragedy?” There was weeping now; Lindsey, by the sound of it, and Gerard turned just enough to see her beating her breast and wrenching at her boy's garments. 

“Would you romance?” Jamia whisked a full skirt from a basket and held it in front of her with one hand while she clasped Lindsey’s fingers with the other, her eyelashes fluttering in a wild parody of femininity. 

“Or would you all of these,” Gerard continued, while his company arranged themselves again, “and more besides—philosophy, apothecary, sin and redemption, life and death and what lies beyond. Lord Pedicone, I give you: The Black Parade.” As he finished, Lindsey and Jamia stood on either side of him, beseeching, star-crossed, while James growled menacingly from a crouch nearby and Ray played a rousing crescendo on the lute. Gerard stepped backward into the tableau, arms outstretched to encompass lovers, wolves, music, and all. And simply waited. 

A few beats of Gerard's heart, and then Frank was applauding, the sound of glove striking glove discreetly muffled in the large chamber. Another joined him almost immediately, a young maid with dark hair and simple, yet well-made, raiment who stood at Frank's side—a member of Pedicone's household, Gerard assumed, appointed to attend the Lady Ballato. Gerard winced internally; she would have to be given the slip if Frank was to converse with the company freely. He was brought from his thoughts by the sound of Pedicone's hands coming together once, twice, thrice. 

"My brother Jarrod has returned from defending our borders against the threat of invaders," Pedicone said, one arm sweeping out to indicate the slenderer man beside him. Jarrod bore no visible wounds from his recent exploits, so Gerard supposed him skilled or lucky or both; however he had come by it, he seemed at least hale enough to take his elder brother's place when the moment came. All to the good. "And two eves from this, we feast, to celebrate his homecoming—and, of course, the presence of this most beloved lady." He smiled at Frank, who gave another giggle. Gerard repressed one of his own, and then Pedicone was turning his cat's eyes back to the troupe. "I trust you will be prepared to entertain my household in a style befitting such a great occasion."

"We are ever prepared, my lord," Gerard answered. "We need but a blank bit of space within your hall, and we shall bring to life heaven, hell, and all the wonders that stand between them."

Lord Pedicone raised an eyebrow. "I anticipate your attempt. Are we agreed, my brother?" he asked Jarrod.

"We are," Jarrod answered, his round face breaking into a smile. "I have enjoyed your work before, Master Way, but never from so intimate a vantage. I look forward to it."

"As do I," Gerard replied.

"And my lady," Lord Pedicone continued. "What say you?" He leaned close to Frank, and took his hand; Gerard could see Frank's shoulders tighten again, his eyes blinking rapidly above his veil. Pedicone was near enough for danger on several fronts, and seized with a sudden inspiration, Gerard approached the dais.

"I only hope the beauty of our tale may equal but a fraction of your beauty, my lady," he said, and held his own hand out in invitation. Courtesy demanded that Frank should respond in kind, and he slipped his fingers from beneath Pedicone's with grace and—if the look in his eyes was any measure—gratitude.

"You flatter me, sir," he said, in a soft shadow of the lady's voice he used onstage.

"I speak simply as I see," Gerard responded, "for were I to flatter you beyond your merit, I must needs have the angels teach me the language of the heavens. To which they would surely never consent, for fear you would surpass them."

Frank's eyes were merry now, above the line of his veil. "You tread upon the knife's-edge of blasphemy, good sir, and thus I fear there is no space for me beside you."

Gerard smiled, feeling the eyes of the room upon them and warming to this new sport, this many-layered illusion for an unsuspecting audience. "Then I shall learn to dance upon a pin's head, and keep company with the angels there; and since you are like to one, you shall dance with me."

"At the feast, perhaps," replied Frank, and then, turning toward Pedicone, "with my lord's indulgence, of course."

Pedicone's jaw was clenched tight, his gaze gone sharp with malice, and Gerard retreated half a step, hoping his impulse had not led them into greater danger. "Of course," he added.

"I thank you for your consideration," Pedicone answered, and each word struck like a silk-covered arrow. "We grow weary of this talk. My steward will show you where you may set your stage, Master Way. I pray, for your sake, that you make good on your bold promises."

"We will, my lord, my lady," Gerard said with another bow, and though he dared not look at Frank again, he hoped his friend heard the truth behind his words.

* * * * *

After the audience, Frank retired to rest Lady Ballato's delicate constitution, Ray departed to tend to their horses and discover what information might be gleaned from the stablehands, and Michael slipped away to see what might be done about the dark-haired girl who had stood at Frank's side. Gerard had his suspicions regarding the purity of Michael's designs, but if his brother could use his subtle charm to their benefit, so much the better.

Gerard, meanwhile, was attempting to direct a rehearsal in the feasting hall, as preparations for the event swirled around them. He was also discovering that, far beyond whatever challenges the role of Parade Leader presented him, his true difficulty lay in the role he had chosen for himself as the flamboyant leader of their troupe. For he was required to be visible as a peacock in full plumage while others sought truth in the shadows, and much as he normally loved nothing better than to have all eyes upon him, in this case, he keenly felt the frivolousness of his work.

"No!" he shouted at Jamia as, in the guise of the Patient's lost love, she led Lindsey by the hand. In the wrong direction. Once again. "Upstage, Jamie, not down. Would you be eaten by the wolves?"

Jamia blinked as if waking from a dream and dropped Lindsey's hand, a quick storm of emotion on her face that Gerard could not clearly identify as either embarrassment or confusion. "Eaten by Michael in a matted fur cape, you mean?" she volleyed back. 

Gerard winced; in their early rehearsals, the wolves had been the cause of some contention. He had briefly considered attempting to tame real wolves, but Ray had rejected that idea outright. Gerard's suggestion of training dogs instead had met with fierce resistance from Frank, which Gerard was fairly certain had had more to do with concern for the dogs than for the players' vulnerable flesh. Eventually they had settled on Michael in a wolf costume, but Gerard had to admit, his lanky limbs and knobbed knees were hardly threatening, for all he could growl menacingly enough. _It cannot be helped_ , he reminded himself, and Michael would find a way his way to the heart of it; he always did.

He glanced again at Jamia's narrowed eyes. The longer they worked, the more fractious she seemed; perhaps the tension of maintaining her dual roles was affecting her, or the unfamiliarity of playing a woman's role, which she had insisted upon for reasons that Gerard still could not fathom. And the scene—the moment where the Patient was reunited with his love—was a turning point of the play, so Gerard feared pushing her too far, lest she break. "Pause a moment; refresh yourselves," he said. "We'll pick up the thread with fresh eyes and fresh voices."

With one more look at Lindsey, Jamia nodded quickly, then strode away, her boots echoing along the floor as she left the hall.

Lindsey came to sit beside Gerard, affecting a careless boy's sprawl in her breeches and loose shirt. She seemed relish her own role, still. "Was it wise, do you think, to woo Lord Pedicone's lady in front of his nose?" she asked.

"Wise? Perhaps not. But useful, I hope, for now I may meet with Frank in open company and raise no suspicions—or at least, not the correct suspicions. And if we are lucky, Pedicone's jealousy will make him careless." _Though not, I hope, with my bodily integrity_ , Gerard added to himself. Mayhap there were some details of his plan that might have borne more forethought.

To distract himself from his doubts, he watched the staff as they moved about the hall, making their preparations for the feast. He was accustomed to his father's house, where such activity was generally accompanied by shouts and laughter and the occasional ribald joke among the industry. Here there was only fearful silence and bowed necks, with but the barest glance at the spectacle Gerard had been doing his best to make.

Gerard shrugged his shoulders impatiently, hoping that Ray and Michael were progressing well with their assignments.

"It is difficult, is it not, to while away the hours in idleness when there is work to be done?" Lindsey asked him quietly. 

"Before this venture, I would have made any man answer for it who called my work idle," Gerard answered with a self-mocking smile, and Lindsey chuckled. "And I told Pedicone true: our fancies are not merely sport, that seek laughter or tears as the bee seeks the flower, one moment of sweetness and then gone. We are nothing unless we hold a mirror up to truth, and learn something by what we see reflected there. But," he admitted with a sigh, "when I see the plight of the people here, watch them struggling to survive beneath the boot of a careless master, I misdoubt that simple words may suffice to do all that we must."

Lindsey leaned to the side until her shoulder touched his. "Ah, but your words are never simple, sir."

"If they were, perhaps we would not be having so much difficulty with the third act," Gerard answered wryly. Lindsey's laugh rang out again, momentarily filling the hall with warmth as if a spring breeze had passed through it, and on the heels of it, Gerard was emboldened enough to ask the question that had been plaguing him for days. "Have you no playwrights of your own in Ledyardshire, my lady, that you should send for us?"

She smiled. "I told you, Master Way, that your reputation preceded you, and that I had the truth of it myself from your _Sweet Revenge_ at The Lily. And yet for all of that, I would not have chosen you for your words alone, though—yes, O Vanity—they may stir the soul of even the most reluctant hearer." Gerard felt his chest glow warm at the praise, and ducked his head, but Lindsey continued. "I chose you for your skill, Gerard, and for Frank's commitment, but also for your heart, the proof of which you show now as you watch and wait and worry for those who were strangers to you until this day."

He looked at her, half-smiling in mockery of himself. "I will grant that you had the pleasure of my keen wit and matchless poetry at The Lily, but what did you know of my heart? That, I am certain, did not appear upon the playbill."

Lindsey tipped her head to the side. "Do you truly not remember?"

"Remember what?" Gerard asked.

"When you were a child," Lindsey said, as if she were weaving him one of his own tales, "perhaps eight or nine, your father held a great feast, did he not? He sent messages to all the gentry of all the nearby lands, and bid them join his table in the hope of future colloquy."

"He did," Gerard answered; his lips curved as the sights and sounds of it surfaced in his mind. "I had a new pair of breeches—velvet—that I stained with ink almost as soon as I put them on. Mother just laughed and buttoned my doublet over them. Michael was too young to join us at table, and without him I was lost, so I snuck away as early as I could, to the alcove just outside the kitchens. It was my favorite hiding place, and I kept quill and ink there at all times, but that night, when I went to seek my refuge, there was..." His mouth fell open as the memory went sharp and clear, like a gold coin lifted from a watery bed. "There was a small girl there, hiding, just like I had meant to. Her gown was dirty from being dragged through the mud, her feet bare, her knees scraped, yet she smiled at me and greeted me as sweetly as any courtly maiden."

Lindsey smiled. "The mud was from your orchards; I'd been climbing your cherry tree."

"That was you?" Gerard shook his head in wonderment. He could still picture her: hair in dark plaits about her head, her eyes bright and just mischievous enough to charm him. 

"I'd grown tired of the cherry trees long before my mother and father grew tired of the feast," Lindsey explained, taking up the thread. "So I had found your little stronghold, and seized it for my own. You could have thrashed me for it; many boys would have, or at least called your nurse to rout me. Yet instead, you sat down with me, and talked to me as easily as if I were your sister, or at least a well-beloved pet. When, much exerted by my efforts, I began to cry, you drew me a picture to cheer me—a pegasus, I believe."

"And you asked me to tell you a story about it," Gerard remembered. "So I did. The first of my foolish fancies that I had shared with anyone besides Michael."

"So you see," Lindsey said, laying her hand upon his arm, "I knew your heart, Gerard, at the same time I knew your gift. So when I hatched this scheme, I knew you were the only man for it."

"You honor me," Gerard said quietly. "I will endeavor to be worthy of it."

"See that you do," Lindsey answered with a smile. Across the hall, Jamia was returning, looking somewhat more composed.

"And now you must endeavor to be worthy of our third act," Gerard told Lindsey as he stood. "Jamie! Your petticoat, good sir. Our time for chatter is at an end; greatness awaits."

* * * * *

The day passed swiftly, and under cover of night, the company reassembled in the stables.

"This hay will be the end of my new doublet, Ray," Gerard complained, shifting carefully on his bale so as not to scratch the leather of the garment in question.

"Your moaning will be the end of my patience," Ray returned, though there was no true bite behind it. "You should thank me; finding a likely location to meet our nefarious needs was no simple feat."

"It was a fine idea, I credit you." The stables were warm and well-cared-for, and the horses were good for both whickering over the sound of whispers and flushing out any spies who might seek to hide in their paddocks.

And best of all, Gerard reflected as a dark shape appeared in the doorway, it gave Frank the opportunity to meet with them, for anyone who found them would simply discover Lady Ballato seeing to her horse.

Gerard leapt to his feet and gestured grandly at his newly-abandoned hay bale. "Your throne, my lady."

"And turn Lady Ballato's best dressing gown into a pincushion for every stray sliver of hay? A fine time I'd have explaining that," Frank sniffed. "Though Alicia did return this evening bearing some intriguing grass marks upon _her_ gown," he added, wagging his eyebrows at Michael. Then he turned quickly to Lindsey and added, "Your pardon, my lady."

Lindsey's eyes rolled skyward. "Lady Ballato might be required to be offended at your indelicacy, rude varlet that you are, but Lin is no stranger to the mysteries of love."

"Is he not?" Jamia asked from her seat beside Lindsey, a smile slipping across her face like a flower coming into bloom, and in the dim light, Gerard saw Lindsey's cheeks go rosy.

"In any case," Michael said, though his eyes spoke clearly that he had not missed the exchange, "the lovely Alicia's honor remains unblemished, for we did no more than walk in the gardens. And while we walked, we spoke of many things—of the fine weather, of the jewel-like quality of her eyes, and," his gaze flicked to Gerard's, "of her resolve to aid us in our undertaking."

Lindsey gasped aloud, and Frank half-rose from his seat. 

"Michael," Jamia said reprovingly, "you cannot simply—"

"A moment," Gerard interrupted, holding up a hand. "If Michael spoke to her, he must have had reason."

Michael nodded. "Her family languishes in the nearby town. Her father was a blacksmith, and lost his right hand to the forge, and her mother recently fell ill. Alicia came to court to see if her father might find occupation here, and Pedicone, liking the look of her, offered her a place that she dared not refuse. He sends her family a farthing or two when he remembers, but she has befriended the kitchen staff and spirits away meals as often as she may. If she leaves, her parents may well starve. She hazarded more than we do, telling me this, and I would not dare call her liar," he finished fiercely.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the soft whuffling of the horses. In a group such of this, Michael was usually of few words, and so the words he spoke carried unaccustomed weight. Gerard reached over to rest his hand on the back of Michael's neck.

"My apologies, Michael," Lindsey said finally. "I of all people should know the difference between a viper and its victim."

"And I too," Frank agreed. He laid a hand on Michael's arm. "How may we help her?"

"It is she who wishes to help us," Michael said, mollified. "She tells me that among the treasures Pedicone has hoarded is his family's crown, passed down for generations, which disappeared under mysterious circumstances not long after Robert left his seat. The story runs that it was lost, but Alicia believes it remains here still, hidden from all eyes save Pedicone's; yet if Jarrod saw it, he might well question all that his elder brother has told him." 

"Did she say where it might be kept?" Ray asked.

Michael shook his head regretfully. "She had only speculation. But there are many in the household who would be our allies in this—surely some chambermaid or other has caught a glimpse of it, even if she knew not what it was."

"Then which of us is tasked with wooing chambermaids? I dare not, lest my lady hear of it and choke my life away with my own strings," Ray said, though his fond smile belied the image of the hen-pecked husband. Christa might have ruled over the Ravenkroft kitchens with a fearsome hand, but anyone in their presence for more than a moment could see that she and Ray were as in love as any spellbound prince and his princess.

"We know no chambermaids, but Jamie and I have made friends of the cooks, who desire nothing more than to feed charming, growing young boys," Lindsey volunteered. "Will that suit?"

"Excellently, for a start," Gerard approved. "Michael, will Alicia speak to those she trusts, and beg them to speak to those they trust, thus to make the most of our brief span here? For the feast approaches like a galloping horse, and we must be ready to meet it, or lose all."

"I will speak with her," Michael said, nodding. 

"Oh, do more than speak," Lindsey teased.

"My lady," said Jamia in her own voice, caught between shock and delight, then covered her mistake with too-deep laughter. Watching her persona flicker like a candle, Gerard counted the time brief until she would give her game away. Which would no doubt be a wound to her pride, though Gerard suspected Lindsey would like her all the better for it.

"I am no lady here, Jamie, and grateful I am for it," Lindsey said heartily, patting Jamia's knee. 

"Well, I am," Frank said, affecting a haughty tone, "and I have never been so affronted. Do it again," he insisted, and they all laughed then, muffling the sound as best they could in sleeves and elbows and cupped hands. 

"I'faith, my lady," Frank went on, when all had caught their breath, "I know not how you countenance it. When I claimed my role in this, I did so in part with the desire to look my enemy in the face. And now I look at him, and in return, am looked _at_ , like a prize cow at a county fair. And though my fists beg for employment, I may look only, and _do_ nothing. It grates against my nature like a whetstone upon a sword: it sharpens my anger, yet leaves me useless in the scabbard."

"Then you must learn to be the needle, rather than the sword," Lindsey told him. "Use not your fists, but your wit, to prick him where he is most sensitive. Mark you, he will bleed."

Frank inclined his head. "The Lady Ballato is as wise as she is beautiful," he said, though he touched a hand to his own curls as he said it, and Lindsey laughed. "I will take your advice to heart, if you tell me true: when all is said and done, would you not rather use your fists?"

"Many a time," Lindsey admitted, grinning.

"Ah, then I am satisfied. Yet for all that," Frank mused, "the needle may dig deeper, and sting longer."

"And so our resolution," Gerard chimed in, addressing all of them now. "We shall be as wasps surrounding him, until our small, slow poisons shall reveal the greater poison of his soul." He brought his hands together. "But now, hive-mates, let us all to bed. We have mysteries to solve on the morrow, and even now, dawn creeps with rosy fingers toward our horizon."

"Oh," James scoffed, "the dawn is not for hours yet. Alack for poetry!"

"Begone," Gerard mock-growled, "and take your timekeeper's plodding prose with you."

Yet when everyone else had gone, Frank remained still, his face thoughtful, the dressing gown pooled around his feet in a sea of emerald green.

"A little longer yet," he said, when he saw Gerard watching him. "My chamber has a draft, and the bed is too large; I may not sleep without Michael's snores as company."

Gerard smiled and laid an arm about his shoulders. "Of all our burdens, methinks yours is heaviest. How do you, Frank, verily, with Pedicone's eyes upon you like a hawk watches a mouse?"

"Til now, the Lady Ballato has suffered from headaches, and must remain often in her chamber," Frank said, tipping his head to the side so that his wig tickled Gerard's neck. "Yet she must recover on the morrow, for, being what he most desires, I can master him most easily."

"Or rather mistress him," Gerard could not resist adding, and Frank groaned. "But have a care," Gerard went on, "for if he scents his prey, he may move for the kill."

Frank drew a small knife from somewhere within the soft folds of his gown. "Even mice have teeth," he said, displaying his own. Gerard grinned back.

"And so they do."

"And yet," Frank said, "you have a care, as well, Master Way, when you seek to steal the hawk's prey from beneath its talons." He tucked his head more closely beneath Gerard's chin. "I would not see you harmed, even for the sake of my revenge."

Gerard shook his head. "I would have undertaken this for you alone, Frank, and for the love I bear you—and your father," he added, perhaps a bit too hastily. "And at the start, I undertook it for my own sake, too, that my words might be heard by fresh ears, and that we might use them in a lady's aid, the knights of our own tale. But now that we are here, now that I see the faces of the people chained to Pedicone's whims, stifled for nothing more than being born in a straw hut and not a castle..." He pulled Frank closer, silk warm and smooth beneath his fingers. 

Frank sighed. "Since I can remember, I have hated Pedicone's father for dismissing mine, and hated Pedicone himself for dismissing me in kind. But seeing the bent backs and empty stomachs here, I cannot help but think of what fate we escaped with our banishment. Had we stayed, we would toil along with them, not daring to defy a man whose title gives him sovereignty, be he ever so unworthy." He lifted his head to look at Gerard, his face very close. "I did not know until this moment what good fortune delivered my father and mother and I to Ravenkroft. I wish we could upend the whole rotting carcass of this hierarchy and begin anew, but failing that, we may remove this canker at least. We have wandered freely these many years, you and I, and now our time has come to use that freedom not just for our own pursuits, but for others' as well." 

Gerard leaned in to press his forehead to Frank's. "We make our audiences laugh, we make them weep, occasionally we make them snore." Frank's lips curved, and Gerard mirrored him, well-rewarded. "But with this venture," he continued, "we have the chance to shape the curve of our small world. To echo beyond the last sounds of the last words we speak. Is not that a heady, frightening thing?”

"It is," Frank agreed, his eyes shining in the near-dark. "And so I say: tomorrow morning, I will break my fast with our Lord Pedicone. Hide you in a likely spot near the Great Hall, and follow him when he leaves; as sure as I am a faithful wasp, I shall sting the dragon until he leads us to his hoard."

"I will follow you," Gerard promised. He let himself rest another moment in the familiar warmth of Frank's presence, then moved back. In the shadows, Frank's illusion was stronger, the lines blurred between his true self and the one he pretended to, as if one painting had been drawn over another. Gerard found himself unable to look away.

Frank tilted his head to one side. "You look at me as though I am a stranger. I would have thought, after all these years, that my face would hold no fascination for you, for all that I am uncommon handsome." He smiled his habitual wicked smile, but to Gerard, it seemed to tremble at the edges.

Gerard wished for an audience, that he might have excuse to reach out, to touch Frank as a hopeful lover might. "That color suits you well," Gerard told him instead, then felt shame rush over him like a wave, for what mattered a dressing gown any more than any of a hundred costumes Frank had donned? Gerard felt as though he had crossed a threshold and the door had closed behind him, leaving him in uncharted territory.

"As does yours," Frank answered, trailing a finger along Gerard's hot cheek. But almost as soon as the touch began, it was withdrawn, and Frank was making his way toward the stable door. "Good night, Gerard. God keep you."

"And you," Gerard answered, but Frank was already gone.

* * * * *

As he had promised, the morning found Gerard hidden behind a tapestry in the Great Hall. It also found him discovering that hiding behind tapestries was infinitely less interesting and effective than many plays would have had him believe. But once there, he was stuck, so he merely slit a small hole in the fabric—the better to peer through—and waited while Frank and Pedicone dined.

And despite the seriousness of their task, Gerard could not deny that the simple meal made for excellent theatre. For his part, Frank—unveiled, his face carefully painted—seemed possessed by some mischievous sprite. He played the flirt at one moment and the shy maiden the next, while Pedicone's smile seemed to cling to his face like a man dangling from the edge of a cliff. When his feints had sufficiently harried his opponent, Frank dealt him a _punto reverso_.

"Forgive me, my lord, if I appear unseemly, but as you and I have no fathers to broker an accord between us, and I must needs have my people's interests at heart as well as my own, I charge you tell me: what do you bring with you, if we are allied?"

Pedicone blinked in surprise, but recovered smoothly. "I bring wide and fertile lands, my lady, and enough vassals to tend them handsomely. Not to mention that I bring a strong arm in a time of war, for, as a woman lone, you present a tempting target for barbarians."

Frank raised an elegant eyebrow. "Indeed I must, and I would be grateful to the man who would protect me from such predators as sought me only for my wealth." Gerard could see Pedicone's throat move as he swallowed, but Frank merely continued, "I must confess, though, for all it is not delicate, that on our journey here, your lands seemed… somewhat less than fertile."

"All thanks to this cursed drought," Pedicone growled, betraying his frustration, though when he spoke again, it was in honeyed tones. "We are all subject to the whims of Nature, my lady, that harsh mistress who smiles on us and damns us in the same breath of wind. You see that she blesses Ledyardshire with soft rains and lush soil, while in Monrovia, though we are near to you, we are gifted only with the merciless sun. Yet if you were mistress here, she would not dare challenge you, for a house may have but one mistress, and—" he leaned in to place his hand over Frank's—"if I may be frank, I would have no other besides you."

"I have always believed it better to be frank than anything," Frank said artlessly, and Gerard was forced to stifle his laughter in his own sleeve. "However, though you flatter me most prettily, I would not presume to out-mistress Nature. But surely my lord has something in reserve, some small token that might prove the firmness of his… resolve?" He fluttered his eyelashes as he said it, but Pedicone's jaw tightened, betraying plainly that Frank had struck true.

"What does my lady desire?" he asked, holding his arms out to either side. "Say but the word, and I will bring you jewels and silks from the farthest reaches of the world."

"Oh, I would not presume to _that_ ," Frank said, casting his eyes down. "A simple trinket will suffice. As a woman, my vanity may be my folly, but I pray that you indulge me in it."

At the confession, the storm began to clear from Pedicone's face. He reclined again in his chair. "And you shall have it," he said. "Tomorrow night, at the feast, when we announce our intent to wed."

Frank inclined his head, but made no answer. Gerard grinned. Now Frank could make his excuses, and—

"I was here once as a child, with my father," Frank said then, sounding as though the words had crowded his throat, and must escape. "Do you remember?"

Pedicone gave him a measuring look, but shook his head. "Though it pains me to admit it, I do not. The folly of youth, for which I beg your indulgence."

"I spoke with your father's steward at the time, as I recall. He was a kind man," Frank went on. Behind the tapestry, Gerard's muscles coiled for action; Frank trod on ground that might give way beneath his feet at any moment, and pull all of them with it.

"He… was," Pedicone agreed, after a moment of hesitation. "I was sorry for it, when he had to be dismissed."

"Why, what was his offense, my lord?" Frank asked. Gerard could hear the razor edge in his voice, and prayed that Pedicone, who knew him not, would be deceived still.

For the first time in their audience, Pedicone's gaze dropped to the ground. "He stole one of my father's horses, I believe, and medicine as well. My father said that as the lords of this land, we must ensure our own survival above all else, for if we do not, our people will fall to squabbling and squalor." His shoulders hunched, as if he feared a blow; Gerard could not help but wonder what memories might plague him.

"And do you believe so?" Frank asked quietly, and Gerard would have staked his life that there was pity in his eyes. 

Pedicone looked up at him again. "I believe that as goes the lord of the land, so goes the land. You have vassals of your own, my lady—would you not agree?"

Frank was silent at first, while Gerard's heart hammered against his ribs, but then spread his hands. "I believe that the lord—or the lady—and the land should be intricately tied," he said. "And so," he went on, his voice gaining strength, "for the sake of both our lands, I hope you will not disappoint me with the proof of your affection."

"I will not," Pedicone said firmly. He pushed his chair back from the table. "If my lady will pardon me." He rose abruptly, and strode from the hall; Gerard emerged from behind the tapestry, and let himself pause a moment to meet Frank's thoughtful eyes, then slipped out after their quarry.

* * * * *

They had agreed that they must not be seen together too often, so it was only after the midday meal that Gerard met Frank in the sun-dappled garden. The air was rich with the scent of rose and honeysuckle, the sky arched brilliant blue above them, and Frank waited on a bench, his eyes properly cast down. Alicia was seated at another bench just out of earshot, with Michael sprawled at her feet making what looked to be daisy chains.

"My lady," Gerard greeted Frank, with a deep bow and a grin; it seemed days since he had seen him last, rather than hours.

"'My lady' up your arse, I'm baking to a crisp in this dress," Frank hissed.

"Ah, to hear such sweet delicacies from your lips, my love," Gerard sighed, hand over his heart, but he slid a sheaf of papers from his sleeve and began fanning Frank with them obligingly. Frank did look overwarm, his cheeks flushed and tiny droplets gathering at the curve of his neck. Gerard swallowed against dryness in his own throat, wishing he had brought them both some refreshment.

He set aside his papers. "Here," he said, moving quickly to the small fountain that babbled in the center of the circle of benches. He gathered water in his cupped hands and hurried back across the green, then bent forward to tip the liquid gracelessly toward Frank's lips.

Frank drank as best he could, heedless of the drops that snaked down his throat and disappeared beneath his collar, making Gerard wonder at the rest of their journey. His mouth was very warm against Gerard's cold fingers. When he was finished, he raised grateful eyes to meet Gerard's. "Thank you."

"Of course," Gerard murmured. Unthinkingly, he swept a thumb through the cool wet beneath Frank's bottom lip. Frank inhaled, a quick puff of breath across Gerard's dripping fingers, and a crease appeared between the curves of his eyebrows.

"You grow increasingly bold with your attentions, Master Way," he said. Though the words were playful, Gerard thought he heard the glint of steel in them. "The eyes of the castle may be upon us, yet you take your liberty as freely as if you had seduced me to your chambers."

Gerard's heart twisted at the words, at the fear of what might be crouched behind Frank's carefully blank expression, but he kept his tone light. "But liberty is freedom, and therefore I take nothing but the meaning of the word."

The crease deepened in Frank's forehead. "Your words are webs, as ever," he answered, and for a moment Gerard thought he might speak more, but then he shook his head slightly, and affected a wide smile. "So what tidings, sir? Tell me that I did not spend my morning in vain, and that we have discovered the dragon's hoard."

Gerard considered exploring the matter further, but he knew not to press Frank's moods, so he simply threw himself at Frank's feet, an imitation of Michael's carefree attitude. "We have,” he said, his voice pitched low. "I followed Pedicone as far as the cellar, but I met there with a servant, and he greeted me with such cheer that I could not escape him without attracting Pedicone's notice. But a few moments later, Pedicone returned with a small bag in his hands: the trinket you requested, no doubt, vainglorious minx that you are." 

"If I am," Frank answered loftily, "then I have learned it at your shoulder, each time that Christa presents you with a new doublet."

Gerard grinned and clapped a hand to the center of his chest (which was, as it happened, covered by his favorite doublet: red with black slashes, the better to display the darkness of his hair). “A palpable hit!" he cried.

“We should pray for aim as true tonight,” Frank said, his smile seeming easier now. “Alicia has promised that a sleeping draught will make its way into the Lord Pedicone’s goblet at this evening’s supper.”

“And while he sleeps, we shall steal his crown from under his very nose,” Gerard finished triumphantly.

“Assuming that we can find it,” Frank pointed out. "Who knows what maze the cellars might present?"

“Passion and justice are our companions, Frank; we cannot fail," Gerard declared.

One of Frank’s hands slipped from his lap to tug at the back of Gerard’s hair. “Would you jest at fate, you fool?” he asked, shaking his head fondly.

“I will place my faith in my friends and companions,” Gerard said. “A man could ask for no better, were he to ride the wide world in a winged chariot.”

Frank’s eyes rolled skyward, but he was smiling still. “Loft no more flowery phrases at me, but speak plain, for I know you of old.”

“Then I shall speak flowers for the lady you pretend to be,” Gerard said, capturing Frank’s gloved hand to kiss it, “and for my friend Frank—” and now he slid his fingers up until they were grasping Frank’s forearm—”I swear thus: your father’s mistreatment, and the mistreatment of all those like him, shall be avenged.”

“I thank you,” Frank said quietly, and for a moment they sat still as statues, forearm to forearm, pulses beating together.

“I must go,” Gerard said finally. “We have much to accomplish before this evening’s revelry. As for you, hie yourself inside before you bake what little brain may be in your skull.”

Frank raised a hand to his mouth as if to hide a maidenly giggle, but slid his thumb between his teeth instead, hiding the rude gesture behind his fingers. Gerard threw back his head and laughed.

“I will retire anon,” Frank said, “but I would not disturb our cooing doves until I must.” He tipped his head toward where Michael and Alicia sat conversing intently, heedless of the heat. 

“Nor would I,” Gerard murmured. Michael’s smile was sweet and genuine, and Alicia looked at him with undisguised affection, which made Gerard like her all the better. “I must go,” he said again, but he was loath to leave such a peaceful scene. Reluctantly, he rose to his feet, and as a sop to his hesitation, he returned once more to the fountain. He sank his hand beneath the blessedly cool surface, then came to slide it quickly over the back of Frank’s neck. A shiver wracked the skin beneath his wet fingers, and Frank’s eyelids fluttered shut. 

“Keep thee safe, my love,” Gerard whispered, and fled. It was only when he had re-entered the castle that he realized that his endearment had not been necessary for their ruse, for it had fallen on Frank's ears alone.

He was still lost in his revelation when Pedicone appeared from the shadows and set one hand to Gerard's throat, propelling him backward until he fetched up against the stone wall with a grunt.

"You make very free with what is mine, Master Way," Pedicone growled, his face so close that Gerard could smell the wine on his breath.

Gerard bit back the sharp retort that rose to his lips, for he knew he had no hope of besting Pedicone in combat, and his time would come soon enough. He swallowed with some difficulty against the pressure on his throat. "My most gracious lord, I spoke to her merely, and offered her refreshment, that she might not swoon in the heat. The lady is as much yours as she ever was."

Pedicone's eyes narrowed. "I am not the fool you would make of me, Way," he hissed. "And while I would not mar my betrothal feast with violence, after Lady Ballato and I are wed, I will do as much as I must to ensure that you never darken the door of this court again—and with pleasure." He tightened his hold. "Am I understood?"

"Well understood, my lord," Gerard answered, his voice a frail thread of its normal self.

"Then have a care," Pedicone said, and then—with one final squeeze that made Gerard's vision swim and fade at the edges—he walked away, leaving Gerard gasping. 

When the footsteps had receded, Gerard breathed as deeply as he could, tracing the abused flesh around his neck. Their time was running short.

* * * * *

"This is madness," Gerard whispered to Frank as they made their way through the darkened castle together in the wee hours of the night. Though they were only a few hundred steps from the cellar, Gerard felt each one dogged by the threat of discovery, as if the entire house crept behind them in the shadows.

"I told you," Frank said, "if you are caught, the Lady Ballato may be the only one who can save you—Pedicone's people dare not insult me, for fear of his wrath."

"Or," Gerard replied, his eyes darting from corner to corner along the hallway, "we will both be disgraced and thrown in the stocks, or worse."

"Your gift for the dramatic is, as ever, astonishing," Frank told him, with a wry twist to his lips. "The house is abed, Gerard, and Pedicone sent snoring into his supper by Alicia's draught; our time is now."

Gerard sighed. The truth, he knew, was that Frank had spent much of the past two days in his chambers, and in the absence of anyone to spar with, or a wide field in which he could safely turn somersaults, he had seized upon this as his best chance for activity. And though Gerard knew that Frank bore captivity as well as a tiger might—or perhaps an eager hound—he feared that captivity far worse awaited them if they were found out. His earlier encounter with Pedicone had shaken him more than he cared to admit, but it only seemed to have fueled Frank's urgency. Indeed, Frank had been determined to challenge Pedicone there and then, and it had been only by Gerard's most impassioned intervention that he had been persuaded otherwise. 

"Here," Frank murmured as they reached the cellar door. With a brief glance behind him, he slid the bar from the lock and levered up the door from the stones. "Quickly," he said, and, hitching his skirts out of the way, he disappeared down the ladder into darkness.

Muttering an oath, Gerard climbed after him. When he had the door safely shut again, there was a scrape of stone on stone, and the lamp that Frank had brought flared to life, lighting his ghoulish grin.

"Quickly," Gerard mocked as Frank settled the chimney in place. Frank stuck out his tongue, and they moved on through the cellar.

In the ghost-light, the piles of turnips and bags of grain looked like great misshapen monsters waiting for their prey. Gerard shivered and pressed closer to Frank, or at least as close as Frank's skirts would allow. He expected to be teased for it, but Frank merely reached back and caught Gerard's hand in his. Gerard squeezed tightly, comforted, and soon they came upon a pile of bags that seemed to have been arranged in haste.

"A likely spot, hmm?" Frank said, and released Gerard's hand long enough for them shift the bags away from the wall. In the space behind them stood a small wooden door, with a thick wrought-iron lock dangling from it.

Frank cursed softly, and hiked his skirts up to reveal a hammer and chisel strapped each to one of his legs with woven cord. Gerard snickered.

"I will never doubt what may be concealed in a lady's lap," he said. 

"I'd wager I have more than most," Frank answered, and made Gerard snicker harder, until Frank went on, "But oh, if it be a mystery to you, do not let me spoil it," as if he and Gerard had not whispered confidences to each other after they had bedded their first women. "Now, stand back—"

"Hold," Gerard said, catching his hammer as he drew it back to strike. "You'll wake not only this castle, but any in the next five counties."

Frank looked at him as if he were mad. "Will you cast a spell, then? How else do you propose we make our way inside?"

"With these," Gerard replied, and brandished the small set of lock-picks he had brought with him.

"Where did you learn to use those?" Frank asked as Gerard knelt in front of the door.

"My mother locked my quills away once, when I had spent the night in the orchard without telling her. I had time and determination both. Bring the light here."

Egged on by Frank's small sounds of admiration, it was not long before Gerard felt the lock slip open beneath his questing fingers. "See?" he said, wiggling his hands at Frank. "There is more skill in these than may be drawn out by ink."

Frank snorted. "You may imagine my mistake, since the ink is their most loyal companion."

Gerard favored him with a derisive sniff, then stood again. And together, they lifted the latch, and opened the door.

Over the past fortnight, Gerard's imagination had furnished him with lush images of teetering piles of gold, mounds of silks, jewels that sparkled as bright and as numerous as the stars in the night sky. Yet the room was small and dark, and its contents so diverse as to defy the term "collection": here a bag of what appeared to be more turnips, here a single chain of rubies, here a walking staff with an opal worked into its head, here a stack of tarnished gold that would have barely spanned the length of Gerard's hand. All items that might be precious to a small family, but counted cheap to a lord, and yet Pedicone had locked them away as if they were beyond price.

"I could almost pity him," Frank said softly. "A small, sad man, here in his heart, and yet. His people suffer for it, and for that I must wish more than ever for his banishment."

Gerard nodded his agreement, then gasped. "The crown!" For so it was, tucked carefully into a corner, half-hidden behind a length of crimson wool. Gerard took it up and turned it over in his hands, seeing the empty hollows where jewels had been pried away, like teeth missing from a beggar's mouth. The central piece bore the Pedicone family crest.

"This is our prize," Frank said, reaching out to trail his fingers over the wrought gold. "I pray that Jarrod might be persuaded by it."

"He will," Gerard said fiercely, though here in the dimness, hope seemed garishly bright. "Come," he said to Frank. "We tempt fate the longer we stay."

Frank nodded and, tucking the crown next to his hammer and chisel in the pack that Gerard had brought with him, they made for the door.

They had just finished replacing the last of the grain bags when voices sounded in one of the outer rooms of the cellar. Gerard's heart leapt like a rabbit in his chest, and Frank looked at him wide-eyed and doused the lamp, but there was only one exit to the room, and the voices grew inexorably closer.

"Sir!" said a woman, followed by a high-pitched giggle. "I beg you, wait upon our destination—we shall be safer in the dark—"

"You speak madness, woman, and were I a knave, I would bed you here and now, above your protests," a man answered. "Yet, as I am a gentleman, I will follow where you lead…" And then a smacking sound, and another giggle. They were just outside the doorway now, and Gerard—with a desperate, silent prayer for forgiveness—moved in close and took Frank's mouth with his.

To begin, he was too sick with terror to focus on the kiss itself, but his heart eased somewhat as Frank responded quickly, hitching one leg over Gerard's hip, pulling Gerard's hand beneath his dress and to his thigh, as if they were deep in the throes of passion. Gerard gripped him close and tried to obscure as much of his dress as possible lest it be recognized, and then Frank's tongue thrust into his mouth and for a moment, he forgot everything but the sensation of Frank's body pressed to his.

Frank's tongue was a wonder, sliding teasingly against Gerard's and then gone again, making Gerard chase the flavor of him almost before he knew what he was doing. But when he had followed, Frank met him eagerly stroke for stroke, until Gerard caught Frank's bottom lip between his teeth and Frank groaned into his mouth in a decidedly unladylike manner. Gerard tightened his grip on Frank's thigh and pulled upward, seeking to align their hips—

And had to bury an involuntary oath against Frank's mouth when, through slitted eyes, he saw light spill onto the wall behind them, and heard a giggle that ended in a squeak. 

"Oh!" said the woman—the selfsame woman they had just heard approaching a moment ago, a lifetime ago. "Your pardon, gentles," and there was laughter in her voice.

"I see we are anticipated," came the man's rich tones. "Well then, good e'en to you both, and we shall find refuge elsewhere," and with one final flurry of giggles and growling laughs, the voices receded again.

Gerard pulled his lips away from Frank's, but moved not an inch otherwise, his hand still hooked above Frank's knee, Frank's breath tickling his wet mouth. In the darkness, Gerard allowed himself a few heartbeats to hope, to imagine, but then the cellar door fell closed like the hammer of judgment. Gerard breathed deeply, and pried his fingers from Frank's skin, then slowly, slowly stood back until he was steady on his feet. There was a long pause before Frank lit the lamp again, and when the light fell on his face, Gerard could no more decipher his expression than a hieroglyph. His kohl-lined eyes looked deeper and wider than ever in the lamplight.

"Your pardon, lady," said Gerard after a moment, attempting to fashion a smile. Frank's face shuttered up as tightly as a closed shop.

"Come, we must away, before we're found again," Frank said, with the rough grate of flint in his voice as well as in his hands, and strode toward the doorway. Gerard could do nothing but follow him.

* * * * *

He followed Frank all the way to his chambers, in fact, though Frank protested what might happen if they were caught.

"None would disturb you save possibly Pedicone himself, and—as you assured me earlier—he sleeps soundly and will not wake till morning," Gerard pointed out, closing the door behind them.

"Then I envy him," Frank answered shortly, his back to Gerard as he tucked the crown safely into his traveling case.

Gerard's heart sank into his roiling stomach. "Frank," he said, then found he knew not what to say beyond that. "Frank," he tried again, "I'm sorry if my foolishness—if I should not have—there was no time to ask your leave to touch you—"

Frank rounded on him. "Your touch," he hissed, "is not the main of my objection—your vision is. Or rather, your damnable lack of it."

Gerard felt as though he'd been thrown from a horse. "My vision?" he asked blankly.

"Yes," Frank snapped. "Though I wear this—" and he yanked the wig angrily from his head—"and this—" and now he rapped his knuckles against his bodice—"I am still myself. But you see me not. You make love to me as Lady Ballato, and I see the truth of it in your eyes, such as I have never seen when I speak your words of love to you upon a stage. You kiss me to save our skins, but only as long as you can call me lady afterward. But I am Frank Iero still, and still your man. And I would that you see _me_ , not a woman whose name I wear like I wear this gown, to be returned after a night of revelry."

Frank's cheeks were flushed with fury, his eyes dark with hurt, and Gerard's heart was thundering now. 

"See you?" Gerard managed, though his voice nearly failed him, weak and small as it pushed its way out of his chest. " _See_ you?" He moved closer, close enough to feel the frustrated puffs of Frank's breath on his lips, just as he had in the cool darkness of the cellar. "Since I can remember," he said softly, and the truth of it was for himself as much as it was for Frank, "I have seen no one else."

Frank's eyelids fluttered up and down rapidly, like a bird that makes its first halting attempts toward flight, and then the storm on his face darkened, and he reached forward with both hands and yanked Gerard's head toward his.

It felt more like a blow than a kiss, at first; Gerard's breath caught in his lungs and his head reeled, his entire body given over to sensation. He had stood near a tree once when it had been split by lightning, and he thought this must have been what the tree had felt like, struck to the core with all-consuming brightness. Then Frank made a desperate, hungry sound against him, and Gerard found that he could move again. Nay, that he _must_ move, that his hands must frame Frank's face, that his tongue must slip between Frank's lips and explore the wet heat within, that his hips must strain forward against the material of Frank's gown.

Frank tore his mouth away long enough to growl against Gerard's ear, "Were I a lady, I would not allow you such liberties." His mouth left a wet trail as he spoke, his hands sliding down to grasp Gerard's buttocks and pull him closer. 

"Were you a lady—indeed, were you anyone but yourself—I would not take them," Gerard answered. He gave one last thrust of his hips, and then, frustrated at the yards of fabric that separated them, he spun Frank around and began tugging at the laces on his bodice. "I see you as you are," he murmured, his mouth finding the delicate skin beneath Frank's ear. "I see you as I saw you in an orchard in my childhood, in the darkness of a wagon at midnight, in the guise of a princess or a knight upon a stage, in the gardens of our enemy as the sun shone above us." As the last lace came loose, he tugged the bodice over Frank's head. He turned his attention then to Frank's shoulders, to the thin cords of muscle that stretched and tensed beneath the skin as he pressed open-mouthed kisses along the line of them. "I see you as I have seen you in my dreams only, writhing beneath me, crying out at my mouth upon you, mine in flesh as I have so long been yours in heart. Frank." Though everything in him protested it, he pulled his mouth from Frank's skin, turned him around again until their eyes could meet. Frank's were glazed with pleasure, the paint on his mouth smeared from Gerard's kisses, and Gerard nearly lost his resolve, but he held firm with an effort. "Frank. As I have seen thee, so have I loved thee, and in breeches or skirts, bare-faced or painted, dressed in roughest cloth or finest silks from the far side of the world, so shall I love thee always, with everything I am."

Frank watched him for a long, breathless moment, unmoving, and then his mouth curved, and he slowly, slowly lifted his hand to Gerard's cheek. "The trouble with loving a poet," he said, "is that he moves through the language like a king at a feast, taking all the best morsels for himself, and leaving me but the scraps. And thus, I have no words to tell thee how I love thee. But I have this," and here he leaned forward to capture Gerard's mouth in a long, lingering kiss, "and this," and now his hand slipped down to grasp Gerard's hardening prick, making Gerard's gasp echo through the chamber, "and I hope they will suffice." 

"They will," Gerard said roughly, and then plundered Frank's mouth again.

Gerard had been with women before, and knew how to manage skirts and stays, but he also knew that it was not an easy undertaking, and having waited so long already, he was loath to wait any more than he must. He managed to help Frank struggle out of his overskirt, but more than that, he could not bear, and simply sank to his knees in front of Frank on the cold stone floor. The underskirt was soft, and it was the work of a heartbeat for Gerard to toss it over his head and nuzzle at the bare skin of Frank's thighs, exposed above his knit stockings, for he wore nothing else beneath his dress. 

"Gerard," Frank groaned. His hips twitched forward, toward Gerard's mouth. Beneath the skirt, Gerard was mostly in darkness, with the lamplight struggling to pierce the weave of the cloth. And inexperienced as he was with men—there had been one or two, in his cups and in the obliterating dark beneath a dock, behind a public house—he was, for once, grateful not to have an audience's eyes upon him as he leaned forward to lick the head of Frank's cock.

Frank convulsed with a choked-off cry, and his hands scrabbled at the cloth of his skirt until he could drag it out of the way and sink his fingers into Gerard's hair. Gerard took this for encouragement and, emboldened, took more of Frank into his mouth, marveling at the hot velvet skin against his tongue.

"Gerard," Frank gasped. "I—Gerard—"

Gerard smiled around his cock. He remembered what a very skilled milliner's daughter had done for him once in a stable, and brought his hand to the base of Frank's prick, his thumb meeting his lips as he sucked Frank down again. Frank moaned wordlessly, and his hands in Gerard's hair tightened just enough to hurt, just a bit. It was approbation on a par with the applause of a full theatre, and Gerard moaned, himself, at the glory of it.

But after just a few strokes, Frank hissed an oath and yanked Gerard's head back, pulling his cock out of Gerard's mouth with a wet pop. Gerard blinked up at him, at once mystified and utterly bereft. Frank merely reached down—as well as his corset would allow—and caught a handful of Gerard's doublet. He stumbled backward toward the bed, dragging Gerard with him on his knees until Frank fell upon the feather mattress, his hands braced behind him so that his eyes never left Gerard's. 

Frank's skirt was hitched up over his spread knees, leaving him bare to Gerard's gaze, his cock thick and red and shiny with Gerard's saliva. Gerard felt his own cock twitch in response; he paused a moment to fix the image in his mind, struck breathless.

"Gerard," Frank said, as though the word had been rent from his very soul, and Gerard bit his own lip to break his reverie and bent forward to take Frank in his mouth once more. Conscious now of his audience, he tilted his neck so that Frank could see him: the way his eyes fluttered helplessly shut at the sensation of Frank's cock stretching his lips; the pure, fascinated ecstasy that he was sure must show on his face as clearly as a sonnet on paper. Gerard lost himself in his task, in the sweet ache of his jaw, in the glorious weight of Frank's cock against his tongue. After some time, he became aware that Frank's breath was heaving from his chest in short bursts, and Gerard spared a thought for whether he should have unlaced the corset, but then Frank's hands were tugging at his hair again.

"Sweet mother Mary—Gerard—your pardon—" Upon which Frank stiffened, with a cry, and poured salt and slick into Gerard's mouth.

Gerard hesitated for an instant, then remembered the milliner's daughter, and swallowed down every last drop. Frank collapsed backward onto the bed. 

"May God forgive my blasphemy, but in truth, if that was not a holy thing, I know not what might be," he gasped, and Gerard laughed. He struggled to his feet—his knees stiff from the unyielding wooden floor—and climbed up to the bed so that he could curl next to Frank's prone body.

"Did I do well?" he asked, and wondered at how he could feel both terrified and smug, all at once. 

Frank rolled his head sideways to meet Gerard's gaze, and his smile moved across his face like sin and sunlight. "Excellently well. Shall I see if I can match you?"

"I—" Gerard stammered, overcome at the very thought of Frank's mouth on him, and Frank chuckled lowly.

"I've not yet started, and already I've stopped your mouth; this bodes well," he observed, and Gerard was too full of heady anticipation to challenge him. "But first," Frank went on, "you must play my gentlewoman and unbind me, for I would have all my breath for this endeavor." He sat up, presenting his back to Gerard. 

Gerard reached out with trembling fingers and unknotted the strings as best he could, tugging at them gracelessly, interminably, tormented by the pale vee of skin and shifting muscle they revealed as he worked. Finally, he had the stays loose enough to pull the corset off over Frank's head and toss it to the floor. It had left red marks upon Frank's skin, and Gerard could not help but trace them with his tongue.

"Mmm," Frank murmured, a shiver coursing through him, but before Gerard had finished, Frank laughed and ducked away. "Enough; no more may you elude your fate, Master Way," and with no further preamble, he shoved Gerard back upon the pillows, slid down his body, pushed Gerard's breeches and hose aside, and took Gerard's aching prick into his mouth. 

And this was no amiable milliner's daughter, this was _Frank_ —Frank, who had befriended Gerard when no one else would; Frank, who had been his companion in celebration and in censure; Frank, who was currently bringing all his formidable energy to bear on sucking Gerard's brain out through his cock. Gerard dug his fingers into the bedsheets in what he feared was a vain attempt to remain earthbound.

"Is it all right?" Frank pulled off long enough to ask, his face flushed, his mouth wet, his expression endearingly earnest. "I have never—"

"Yes, Frank, yes, yes, just— _more_ ," and Gerard lifted his hips from the bed, thrusting into empty air.

Frank grinned, eminently self-satisfied, then wrapped the grin around Gerard's length, and Gerard's spine bowed again. Pleasure was coiling in him like a brilliant ribbon, each slick slide of Frank's tongue against his skin drawing the tension tighter, tighter, until Gerard thought he would go mad with it. He was lost, he was home; he was complete, he was utterly undone; and—the single, star-bright thought that shimmered in his mind as he came—he was completely, wholeheartedly Frank's, this night and always.

As soon as he could force his leaden arms to move, he pulled Frank clumsily to him, clutching him tightly. Frank burrowed in with a noise perilously close to a purr.

"If I had known," Frank said, muffled against Gerard's half-unlaced shirt, "that it would take but a well-born lady's name to tempt you, I should have adopted one for myself long ago."

Gerard rolled his eyes and tapped one finger reprovingly against Frank's skull. "'Twas not the name, for what's in that? It was…" And then he paused, considering. "It was as if I had lived all my life in a beautiful estate, and—"

"You _have_ lived all your life in a beautiful estate," Frank mumbled.

"Hush, I'm speaking metaphorically," Gerard scolded him. Frank snickered, but subsided. "As I said," Gerard continued loftily, "it was as if I had lived every day there, under its shelter, under its care, and—I may only hope—caring for it in equal measure. I had always loved it, but then I returned one day to find a fresh coat of paint upon it. And though the structure was no different than it had been, I saw it with fresh eyes, and found its beauty anew. And the more fool, I, for not having seen it long before."

Frank looked up at him, his eyes warm and dark. "You have cared for it well, so I think your estate may be persuaded to forgive you," he said, and leaned up so that their mouths might meet in a sweet, lingering kiss. "You must go," he murmured when he had finished, "for all is lost if you are discovered here," but even as he spoke, he drew Gerard in again.

Gerard hummed against his lips. "Your mouth belies your words, my friend, and having learned so recently to love it, I must follow where it leads."

Frank laughed, little more than a low rumble in his chest, and moved to kiss his way down the length of Gerard's neck, taking special care to place his lips gently upon each bruise that Pedicone had left. Through half-closed eyes, Gerard watched the flicker of the lamp upon the bedside table. Frank's flint and steel lay next to it.

And into the rare quiet of Gerard's well-sated brain, an idea leapt, unbidden. He half-sat-up, dislodging Frank and drawing an annoyed growl out of him.

"You would bed me and then leave me?" Frank said, affecting a pout. "Most perfidious of men."

"You bid me go," Gerard could not help pointing out, "but that's no matter—Frank. I know how we may use the crown."

The lazy contentment in Frank's eyes vanished in an instant. "How?" he asked, sitting up, himself.

Gerard grasped his hand. "The people of this house are as kindling, simply waiting for a spark to strike them into full flame. We must be their flint and tinder, and they shall devour the rest, as is their right."

His lassitude entirely forgotten, Frank was nodding before Gerard had even finished speaking. "Say on," he said. "I will attend you."

* * * * *

They met with the company at first light, and immediately began to put Alicia's finely-woven tapestry of allies to good use. Once sparked, the kindling burned even more quickly than Gerard might have hoped; the day passed in a flurry of whispers and preparations, and in what seemed like a few sparse moments only, Gerard stood waiting to make his entrance from the side of the great hall, though he could not have said for certain how he got there. Yet there was the steward announcing them, and there was the crowd quieting, and it was time.

With shaking knees, he strode deliberately to the center of the hall, step by measured step, his boots echoing on the cobblestones. When he arrived at precisely the correct spot, he allowed his gaze to find Frank's, where he was seated to Pedicone's left. Frank watched him with bright eyes, as though his heart shone from within them. And with his own blood thundering in his ears, Gerard raised his voice to begin the prologue.

"Come, all you gentles, to this tragic affair…" And he let _The Black Parade_ overtake him.

Despite their grander purpose, he could not help the thrill of pride when the audience gasped at the Patient's death, or fell silent as the grave when Gerard appeared to lead him to his destiny; Jamia and Lindsey could have wrung tears from stone with the passion of their reunion, the vast sorrow of their parting. As the wolf, Michael stalked with lupine grace, while Ray played a sly, slinking melody that crawled along Gerard's spine like sharpened claws. James played half a dozen parts all on his own, tossing one costume aside for another in a whirlwind of bright cloth. And when it was time for the Patient to take his place in the grand parade, Gerard threw his arms wide and declaimed:

"No life nor death do I in darkness fear, no solitary walk throughout the world..."

And as he spoke, Alicia emerged from the crowd, and—in hands that Gerard could scarcely tell were trembling—joined the assembly just behind Lindsey, her arms stretched high to display the battered Pedicone crown.

A gasp ran through the audience. Jarrod sat up quickly in his chair, and Gerard heard Lord Pedicone murmur urgently, "A ruse, brother; these players know not what they—"

But then a stablehand was stepping forward to take his place behind Alicia, and then the master-at-arms, and then one of the serving maids. Each of them bore a damning burden: a bag of coin, a bundle of dried meat, a golden plate, all tithes taken and then hidden while the people starved, all emblazoned with the Pedicone crest in silent accusation. They were replicas merely, but each item had its match in the room beneath the cellar, and James prided himself on his skill in creating props; seeing Pedicone's reaction, Gerard could not help but think that James' pride was well-founded.

Indeed, Pedicone's murmurs were growing rapidly to shouts, but by then the whole hall was a cacophany of noise. And when Gerard's army numbered a dozen, they moved forward as one and lay their offerings at Jarrod's feet.

"Brother," Pedicone was saying, "this is rank falsehood, this is blasphemy, this is chicanery—"

Next to Pedicone, Frank half-rose from his seat, glancing at Lindsey with an entreating look. Out of the corner of his eye, Gerard saw Lindsey nod, upon which Frank drew back his fist and rammed it full into Pedicone's face.

Jarrod gaped at Frank for a moment, as Frank took his seat again and tucked his hands demurely in his lap. Then Jarrod turned pitying eyes upon his brother, sprawled at his feet. "Sir," he said, "Methinks the time for talk has passed."

* * * * *

After the hurly-burly had given way to brotherly interrogations—which Gerard sincerely hoped were painful—and celebrations by the townspeople—which Gerard suspected were no less enthusiastic for being prudently quiet—the company slipped away to the nearby woods. It was their tradition when a show had ended, and Gerard was determined to keep it now more than ever.

A fire was built, a staggering number of wineskins opened, and some spirit-soaked span of time later, Gerard found himself seated on a log with Lindsey beside him. Her short boy's wig had been discarded, but she wore her breeches still, and she stretched out next to him with as little grace as he had ever seen from her. He was delighted by it.

"To your masterful performance, my lady," he said, raising his mug to her. 

She mirrored him, her own wine splashing over her hand. "And to yours. And to the words that made our masterful performances a possibility." Her tongue caught and slid on the harsh percussive sounds, and she giggled at herself.

"A pity the ending was lost to the moment," Gerard mused. "I had a rousing epilogue."

"Gerard," Lindsey said, "your epilogue was _revolution_. I think you may content yourself with that."

Gerard reflected on the night's events in the light of such an interpretation, and laughed. "An excellent observation, as always." He nudged her. "And what of Lady Ballato's epilogue? Having incited a hapless company of players from ruin to revolution, what dragon shall face her challenge next?"

Lindsey sighed. "A dragon? Say a hydra, rather, for such is the monstrous nature of marriage proposals: no sooner is one slain than three more spring up in its place. Unless," she said, looking up at him from beneath the curtain of her eyelashes. "Unless you and I marry."

Gerard gaped at her. She might as well have asked him to dine with her upon the curve of the moon. "I..." he stammered. "My lady, I hold you in the highest esteem, but—"

She held up a hand. "I know where your heart lies, Gerard, and with whom, and I would not wrest it from its rightful place for land nor titles nor any temptation of earth or heaven. And I would that we were both free to marry where we choose. But to serve your people, the law of the land demands that you must take a wife, and I a husband. For myself," and she laid her fingers on his arm, "I would sooner marry where there is friendship than where there is only commerce. And, united, we may serve as the solid standing place for as many levers as care to use us."

Gerard considered it; after all he had seen in Monrovia, he longed to bend his passions to a greater purpose, and the prospect of rule did not seem so terrifying with Lindsey at his side. He could write still—write more, perhaps—and if Lin joined them for a role here or there, they might yet satisfy justice, poetry, and honor, all. But her brave words aside, something in expression caught at Gerard's heart, and he leaned closer.

"But must it be friendship or commerce only? You are young and beautiful, Lindsey, and there may yet be love for you. Though finding a man who is your equal is a labor such as would make Hercules tremble," he added with a wry smile.

Lindsey returned his smile, then dropped her eyes. "You flatter me most sweetly, but…" She hesitated, then continued, "My heart is lost already, and the one who holds it is not for me. So better you than anyone, if I may not have my love." And as she spoke, her gaze flicked upward again, to flutter like a restive moth upon Jamia, who stood laughing by the fire.

"Oh," Gerard breathed, as a dozen quiet notes from the past fortnight suddenly joined into a single melody. He covered Lindsey's hand with his. "Lindsey—"

"Speak not of this to her," Lindsey begged him, clutching his hand tightly. "I will bear my love in peace, I will not—"

 _"Her?"_ Gerard repeated, when his brain had parsed the evidence of his ears. 

Lindsey clapped a hand to her mouth. "Oh, the demon wine, my father spoke true—"

"You _knew_?" Gerard asked.

Lindsey laughed, though tears shimmered in her lashes. "She taught me too well; I was not deceived for long."

"You knew," Gerard said again. For a moment, he simply looked back and forth between her and Jamia, and then another thought struck him. He might have missed the signs thus far, but he would stake his life that this was no mere melody, but a harmony. "Jamia!" he called, ignoring the sudden sharp bite of Lindsey's fingernails into his arm. "Jamia, a moment."

She crossed the clearing to them, trailed by Frank, who—wineskin in hand—collapsed upon the flat of a large nearby rock. 

"As you call, so _Jamie_ answers," Jamia said, with a bow that did not quite conceal the quirk of her eyebrows on the name.

Gerard rose and took her hand, guiding her to his vacated seat on the log with a flourish. "Jamia," he said firmly, "shed your illusion—our lady here is too keen-eyed for we poor players. My lady," he said to Lindsey, with another, even grander flourish, "may I present to you my dear friend Jamia Nestor." 

And with that, he went to sit between Frank's splayed legs, content to watch the climax unfold. Frank's arms came around him; he relaxed into the embrace.

Lindsey's hands were restless in her lap, her eyes fixed upon them. "I swear on my life, I will not betray you," she told Jamia.

"Of course you won't," Jamia answered instantly, as if affronted by the suggestion. Then her voice softened. "How long?" she asked. 

Lindsey gave another small, helpless laugh. "Since the third day, when you brought me cloth to bind my breasts and it…" She made a noise in the back of her throat. "It smelled of you, and you seemed too practiced with it. Once thought, it could not be unthought."

In the flickering light from the fire, Jamia's expression was inscrutable. "All this time," she said. "You _knew_?"

Gerard twisted around to whisper to Frank. "I said the same!" 

"Shh," Frank admonished him, holding him more tightly.

"Why did you not tell me?" Jamia wondered. "Did you laugh at me as I played the fool, feigning a boy's brashness and a rough tongue? Was I amusement enough for you, my lady?" Her voice took on a brittle cast, like ice cracking above a current, and Gerard made to sit forward, but Frank held him fast.

"No," Lindsey said desperately, "no, no," and she wrapped Jamia's hand in hers. "Nothing near so cruel, but selfish only, for…" She closed her eyes, then opened them again, and now they snapped a sort of fearful defiance. "For I wanted to be near you, and I hoped that Jamie might pretend to love his eager student, as Jamia might not. So if I was cruel, it was only to myself, to cling to dreaming when the implacable dawn would come, though I brought all my force of will to hold it back."

Jamia spoke not, but she made no move to dislodge Lindsey's hand from her own. Gerard swallowed. His entertainment had become a scene best consigned to privacy, but his players seemed to have entirely forgotten their audience, so rather than disturb them further, he simply held his breath in his lungs and waited.

"I will not speak of this again," Lindsey said quietly, when the silence had stretched to the breaking point. "I hope that someday, my friend Jamie will give way for my friend Jamia, for I have valued our companionship dearly, and I—"

And then she could speak no more, for Jamia's mouth was upon hers, Jamia's hands clutching her shoulders, Jamia's tongue slipping between her lips. With an incoherent cry, Lindsey responded in kind, her fingers weaving tight into the cloth of Jamia's shirt.

Gerard climbed to his feet. He had a soft bed of heather awaiting him in a nearby meadow, and he had been, for some time, much occupied with the thought of how Frank's skin might look in moonlight. He tangled Frank's fingers with his own and tugged him to his feet, giving him a look full of promises.

"With our loves' permission, we shall marry as soon as we may," he told Lindsey as he made to leave the clearing, but she gave no indication of having heard him.

* * * * *

On their wedding day, Gerard and Lindsey met at the doors to the church, and they stood together at the altar. But when the friar asked Gerard if he would love and honor, he said "I will" with his eyes fixed not on Lindsey, but on the veiled lady who stood beside her, eyes warm and merry and familiar as anything Gerard knew. Lindsey, likewise, spoke her vows to the boy who stood shyly at Gerard's side, a flower tucked into the fastenings of his new doublet. And as the friar pronounced them married, Gerard smiled, for though the friar knew it not, he had married four people that day instead of two, and doubled their joy thereby.

That night, after all the revelry had concluded, Gerard and Lindsey parted ways with a warm embrace. And while Lindsey disappeared into her own chamber with Jamia, it was Frank who Gerard took to his marriage bed. They undressed each other slowly, trading kisses in the golden light of the bedside lamp.

"Husband," Gerard murmured, almost to himself, when Frank was spread out naked before him like a banquet. In the bustle of the wedding preparations, the population of Ravenkroft seemed to have multiplied a hundredfold, leaving the lovers stolen moments only: quick, furtive fumblings that had left them both sated, yet still unsatisfied, like some kind of magic draught in a tale. Now he explored Frank's skin with reverent fingers, wanting to memorize each dip and swell.

Frank smiled. "Husband," he echoed. He let Gerard have his will for a moment, then rolled over with the sudden grace of a cat and prowled down Gerard's body to crouch between his spread legs. 

"Frank," Gerard whispered, his eyes clenching shut as Frank's tongue moved along his length with leisurely, teasing strokes. "Frank—Frank, if you love me, I prithee—"

"What would you?" Frank asked him. His voice was silk and darkness, his hands wicked, stroking Gerard's thighs.

"Anything," Gerard said, "anything," for he was Frank's now, body and soul, and he wanted everything, and would deny him nothing.

"Mmmm," Frank hummed approvingly, and rewarded him by closing his mouth over Gerard's prick. He began to suck steadily, as if he remembered the rhythm that Gerard best liked; Gerard's fingers found their way into the smooth fall of his hair. He could spin this moment out for all eternity, he thought dreamily, just so—and then Frank's spit-slick finger was prodding gently between his legs, circling his hole, and his eyes snapped open.

"Ah!" he gasped, startled, but gone as hard as steel now. For he had desired this since first he'd heard it whispered of in taverns, only he had dared not ask for it so soon. 

Frank was watching him carefully. "If you will," he offered, almost shy, and Gerard nodded so energetically that he nearly caused himself injury. Frank laughed and kissed the inside of his thigh, then stretched across Gerard's leg to retrieve a small bottle of oil from beneath the bed.

"Have you—?" Frank asked as he poured the oil upon his fingers. It smelled sweet, filling the room with the scent of rose and almond.

"No," Gerard answered, his attention wholly captured by the glistening drops. Then his mouth quirked. "You see, I come a proper virgin to our wedding bed. And you?"

Frank smiled. "The same, though I have heard much in theory."

"From whose lips?" Gerard demanded. Duels were not his strength, but from this day forward, he would make any man answer for it who dared whisper such theories to his husband.

"Such a jealous orange does not become you, my beloved," Frank told him wryly. "And you may exchange it for red and white again, for I heard tales only from your own brother."

Gerard's jaw dropped to his chest. "From _Michael_?"

"Hath your lordship another brother?" Frank asked. "Yes, from Michael. In truth, he tells me that Alicia—"

"Peace!" Gerard held up a silencing hand, while Frank shook the bed with laughter. "Mischievous imp, I know not why I love thee so."

Frank fluttered his eyelashes at him. "Why, primarily for my fair complexion and my wit—so thou hast often told me." As he spoke, he began tracing Gerard's hole with his fingers again. "And for my fearsome skill in battle, of course," he went on, "matched only by my prowess upon a stage. Perchance you might also love me for my poetry, had I written any, for I doubt not that I would be as excellent at that as any man might wish of me; and my true seat upon a horse, and—"

"Frank," Gerard groaned in desperation, for the feather-light touches were cruelest torture, and Frank took pity on him and slid one oiled finger inside of him.

Gerard arched his neck and cried out.

"Gerard?" came Frank's voice, anxious.

"Good," Gerard hastened to reassure him, reduced to single syllables alone, "good, more," and Frank obliged, stroking carefully in and out, exploring. The sensation was strange at first, but not unpleasant, and the longer Frank touched him, the more Gerard writhed upon the bedsheets. "More," he begged again, when he was pushing down against the single digit to no avail, "another, Frank," and so Frank slipped a second finger in beside the first, and Gerard's keening seemed to wrap around them in the warm, close air. By the time Frank had added a third finger, he had found an angle that made sparks burst at the base of Gerard's spine with each thrust, and Gerard could wait no longer. "Frank—inside me—"

With a hungry, wordless noise, Frank pulled his fingers out—Gerard nearly wept at the void that was left in their wake—and wiped them absently against the sheet. He knelt up, seized a pillow from the ruin of their bedclothes, and placed it beneath Gerard's hips with tender care. Then he took his prick in hand and slicked it carefully with more oil, making Gerard's mouth water at the sight of it sliding through his fingers, dark and thick. Gerard bit his own lips to keep from begging Frank to abandon his preparations and fuck him _now_ ; Frank watched him with a smile that was part sympathy, part pleasure at seeing Gerard so eager for him. After what seemed several eternities, Frank finally crawled forward and positioned himself so that the blunt tip of his cock was brushing Gerard's hole.

"Gerard," he said, and his expression was earnest now; his free hand trembled. "Gerard, I would not hurt thee for the world."

"And so thou wilt not," Gerard promised him. "Go slowly, my love, as you might with any tender maid, but _go_ , I beg of thee," and he thrust his hips toward Frank's.

Frank's chest expanded with a draught of air, and then, bracing himself on one hand, he carefully pressed the head of his cock inside Gerard.

The sweet invasion was vastly different from fingers; it gave rise to a nameless, formless ache, and Gerard twitched his hips, seeking more. Frank answered him immediately, pushing deeper, inch by deliberate inch. By the time he was sheathed to the hilt, Gerard had all but lost the pain beneath the pleasure. Frank held himself still as a statue, looking down.

"Are you well?" he asked, his voice strained, his eyes full of love.

Given Gerard's moods, Frank had asked him that a hundred times in their long acquaintance, and the vastly different circumstance was enough to set Gerard giggling. "I have thee," he said, "so I am well, though I would be better still if you would—" and the rest was lost as Frank stole his breath with a single short thrust. "Yes," Gerard urged, his fingers digging into Frank's hips, "yes."

Frank thrust again, harder, and again, and again; Gerard tilted his own hips slightly, and the next thrust kindled the same spark that Frank's fingers had, only it was brighter now, expanding in Gerard's center like the fireworks they had seen once along a river in a distant city. Gerard's mouth fell open, and the next snap of Frank's hips drove a hoarse cry from his throat.

"Frank," he moaned, "you feel—by my soul, I wish you could feel—"

"I will," Frank promised, his voice ragged, "tomorrow, tonight, every day—Gerard, your _face_ —" He scrabbled for Gerard's hand, and wrapped Gerard's fingers around his own cock, transmuting the fireworks into a shower of stars. Gerard could form no words then, only wordless sounds of pleasure as they moved together, climbed together. And when, at long last, Frank buried himself deep and spilled inside him with Gerard's name like a prayer upon his lips, Gerard stroked himself once, twice more, and followed gladly.

It was little wonder, Gerard thought afterwards, that such union was called the little death. For surely mortals were not meant to scale such heights, and the heavens had opened for them.

"A blessed wedding day to you, my lord," Frank murmured against his shoulder, sprawled heavily upon him like a bearskin rug.

Gerard stroked his hair. "So you have made it." He felt Frank's lips curve against his skin. 

He knew not how much time crept past before Frank groaned, kissed Gerard's neck, and then rolled from the bed, keeping his feet only with an effort. He soaked a square of cloth in the washbasin that had been left for them, and used it to swab away the worst of the mess on their bellies and chests. When he had finished, he tossed the cloth aside and crawled eagerly into the canopied bed, settling himself in Gerard's arms with a contented sigh.

The day had been long, and full of joy and wonder, and Gerard was just succumbing to slumber when Frank's voice wove its way into his fledgling dreams. "I would have a new play, my lord. As a wedding gift."

Gerard dragged his eyelids back open. "Oh, would you?" 

"I would," Frank said. "Yet enough of death and darkness; I want light." His fingers drifted over Gerard's stomach, leaving ripples of sensation in their wake.

"Mmm," Gerard responded. He tangled Frank's fingers with his. "A romance, then?"

"Perhaps," Frank smiled. "But let this one have a whiff of danger still, for my sword rusts in its sheath," he continued, giving a lazy thrust against Gerard's thigh, and Gerard laughed and kissed him.

"And shall I be the lady, and you the lord, this time?" Gerard asked him, teasing.

Frank looked at him with shining eyes. "Either," he said, "so long as you love me."

For that, Gerard drew him closer still and kissed him again, sweet and long and wondering. He felt as though the wide world had opened up before him. "As you will, my beloved," he murmured against Frank's lips. "As you will."


End file.
